


The Infinity Stones

by hafital



Series: The Lifetimes of Steve Rogers [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Time Travel, Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Compliant, Canon Divergence - Avengers: Endgame (Movie), F/M, Fix-It, Gen, Infinity Gems, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-09
Updated: 2020-04-09
Packaged: 2021-03-01 18:34:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 29,987
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23561659
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hafital/pseuds/hafital
Summary: Steve Rogers's (mis)adventures through time and space as he returns the Infinity Stones to their rightful timelines.~*~He could have used a minute to think and process and find his feet again, a sort of quantum way station where he could catch his breath, but all he had were the quick swirling moments it took to travel through the quantum realm to his next stop.
Relationships: Frigga | Freyja & Steve Rogers, Loki & Steve Rogers, Peggy Carter/Steve Rogers, Peter Quill & Steve Rogers, Steve Rogers & Heimdall, Steve Rogers & Natasha Romanov, Steve Rogers & The Ancient One
Series: The Lifetimes of Steve Rogers [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1686673
Comments: 16
Kudos: 80





	1. The Time Stone

**Author's Note:**

> This is part two of a five part series that explores Steve Rogers' travels through the multiverse. The entire series is already written. Part Three: The Third Five Years, will be posted next week. 
> 
> In this part, Steve starts his career as a Time Lord. :D 
> 
> Except for the first part of the series and the epilogue, most of this series takes place entirely within the five seconds after Steve disappears from the platform. It is also canon compliant, but since 95% of it takes place in alternate timelines, it is also canon divergent. :D 
> 
> This story uses the Alternate Timeline theory of Avengers: Endgame
> 
> Thank you to killabeez and slb44 for the beta!
> 
> If you would like more information about characters and pairings before reading, please see the end notes.

He appeared on a New York City rooftop, glancing skyward as a Chitauri chariot blew up and smashed into the building next door. For a moment, Steve saw Bruce, just as he disappeared from the rooftop. He blinked and Bruce was gone. 

“Ah,” said a voice, startling Steve. The Ancient One stood near the edge of the roof, momentarily hidden by the brick wall, but as she moved he saw her clearly. She was bald and dressed in dark yellow robes. “Well. I’d call that prompt. So, you survived after all?”

Bruce had described the Ancient One to him, had told him what to expect. “Hello, ma’am. I’m Steve Rogers. How do you do?” 

Amusement flickered in her eyes. “I haven’t been called ma’am in…well. Ever.” She looked him up and down, taking in his uniform. “Please,” she said, and gestured to a small sitting area in the corner of the roof, with two rickety-looking chairs and a round garden table. Another Chitauri chariot swung by, and she swiftly dealt with it, using magic, then she turned back to him. “Would you sit with me?”

“I…should probably—” he started, making a vague gesture to indicate he had a lot of things to do.

The Ancient One didn’t seem to expect a “yes” or “no,” but took her seat and then waited patiently for him to take his. “I know you have other pressing matters, Captain. But I also know, you have all the time in the world.”

He hesitated. There was an explosion uptown, and he heard a distant roaring—that was the Hulk. Steve looked north and saw Iron Man shoot up into the sky and disappear into the portal. A few moments later, the Chitauri stopped functioning, and then not much longer after that the beam of light that kept the portal open began to flicker, then cut out. He held his breath along with everyone else watching, even though he knew what would happen next. And, for the third time in his life, he watched the tiny figure of Tony Stark fall from the sky. 

“Did he live?” she asked, having been observing him in silence. He watched until Tony Stark fell between the buildings and he couldn’t see him anymore, though the Hulk’s roar echoed again. When he turned his attention back to the Ancient One, she gestured a second time for him to sit. “I can see it on your face,” she added.

He knew she wasn’t asking after the Tony Stark that had just fallen from a hole in the sky. But he set Mjolnir down—the Ancient One looked at the hammer curiously for a moment—then propped the case with the Stones next to it. “No,” he said, simply.

“I see.” She bowed her head briefly. “And what of Bruce?”

“He was injured. That’s one of the reasons he couldn’t return the Stone to you personally. He wanted to. You left quite the impression.”

“Yes. I have that tendency.” It was spoken with a hint of dry humor. With her right hand moving in a circle, she opened a portal. Steve couldn’t quite see to the other side, but she reached in and brought out a teapot and set it down on the table, then reached back through the portal for two place settings. The portal sparked, then disappeared. She picked up the pot and began to pour. “You have something for me?”

He took a deep breath, and reached for the case, opening it and turning it toward her. Her eyes traveled over each Stone. He could see their rainbow reflection on her pale skin and in her eyes. 

“I’m your first stop?” The Ancient One made a gesture with her hand, and the green Time Stone lifted from its place in the case, hovering mid-air. With her fingers forming symbols, the medallion around her neck opened, and the Stone floated into place inside it. She closed the case and handed it back to him. 

He grinned, setting it down again and picking up his teacup, giving it a sniff before taking a swallow. It tasted of flowers. “Well. Bruce set the order, and I didn’t question him on it. I think he was particularly anxious to return the Time Stone to you as soon as possible.”

“I am sorry I didn’t have longer with him. He was quite impassioned, and I did not give up the Stone easily.” 

Steve didn’t say anything to this. In his present, the Ancient One had died a few years before. They both knew it had happened, and would happen. Yet, here he was having a conversation with her, and this was both their present as well. And all of this occurring in different alternate realities. Her eyes missed nothing as she watched him, sipping her tea—she knew exactly what he was thinking. 

“This time travel business takes some getting used it,” he said. “It’s a lot to wrap your head around.”

“Yes. But you have experience now. And, unless I’m quite mistaken, shall have a lot more of it before you return home.”

He shivered despite the warm cup of tea he held. 

“May I take your hands, Captain?” she asked, holding both of hers out with the palms up. 

Again, he hesitated, but then set his teacup down, and placed his hands on top of hers, wondering what it was about her that made him trust her. But he knew why—because Bruce trusted her. She removed his gloves. It was shockingly intimate, though not remotely sexual. With their bare hands clasped, she pressed her thumbs into his palms. The Time Stone inside the medallion glowed, and green circles of light encased both their hands. “Look at me,” she said. 

He looked into her eyes. Though he and the Ancient One remained seated on the two rickety chairs, they were suddenly transported elsewhere. From a New York City rooftop to a blustery, snow-covered mountaintop. From a verdant green forest with sweet-smelling summer air to a congested, traffic-choked foreign city, with cars honking, humid heat and the stink of car exhaust. They sat untouched in the center. 

“Eyes on me,” said the Ancient One. Steve struggled with this, wanting to look around and see where they were, but he forced himself to continue staring into her eyes. 

The scenes changed quickly now, so he barely managed a glimpse of where they were: the living room of someone’s home, the deck of a ship at sea, a wide-open desert, the bridge of a space ship. He got the distinct impression that the Ancient One was seeing something very different than what he was seeing, but he didn’t question her. 

Then, they were in a temple, sitting in a courtyard with several men and women standing in rows, practicing magic. This time, the scene did not change. Their chairs and the table were somehow nestled between the rows without any of the students colliding with them. 

“Where is this?” he asked.

“Kamar-Taj. These are some of my students.” Though she kept his hands in hers, they both seemed free to look around now. “Have you ever considered becoming a student of the mystic arts, Captain?” she asked, with a note of curiosity, as if it was he who had brought them to this place, and not her. 

“Call me Steve. And I can’t say that I have.”

“No,” she agreed, and turned to face him again. “Your journey lies along a different path.”

“Something tells me I wouldn’t have the right temperament,” said Steve, dryly. 

“Perhaps. Though, it is not about temperament so much as willingness. The willingness to leave what you believe behind. Flexibility of mind. But there is more than one course of study at Kamar-Taj. We have, for example, a rather extensive library. Some of the volumes even have to do with the nature of time. What is your greatest strength?” 

Steve blinked at the question, and felt a tingle of energy pass from her hands to his, subtler than electricity, traveling up his arms. The hair at the back of his neck lifted. 

She broke the link, and they were back on the rooftop, having never left. He thought about her question. The answer wasn’t physical strength, he knew that much. He asked a question of his own. “Are you going to tell me what that was about?”

“If you can answer my question, I’ll answer yours.”

He had to think about it. Around him, he noticed more of the rooftop—the cluttered flowerpots, what looked like an old-fashioned pigeon coop, a messy collection of gardening tools. He picked up his gloves. “I don’t give up,” he said, dropping his voice low. 

She lifted an eyebrow. “Some might call that stubbornness.”

“Yes, they do, and often. You should hear what my friends call me. I don’t know about greatest strength, though. It gets me into more trouble.”

“But that’s just it. Our greatest strengths are often our greatest weakness. To answer your question, I was seeing into the future,” she said. “Your future. The path you’re on takes a winding route. It stops and starts; it veers to the left and to the right, heading backward but going forward. I wouldn’t say it’s an easy life, what you’ve chosen. But it is a long one, to end up nearly exactly where you left.”

They continued in silence, and Steve thought he should leave. The Ancient One appeared to be waiting for him as she took a sip of her tea. “Tell me more about this library,” said Steve, and the Ancient One smiled.


	2. The Mind Stone

This time, the device didn’t return him to the alley where Scott disappeared, but just out of sight of the unconscious Steve Rogers who remained on the floor in Stark Tower. How long had it been? At least a couple of minutes—probably closer to five—since the earlier Steve had taken the scepter back to the alley. 

It surprised him that his counterpart remained unconscious for so long, but he supposed he probably overdid it when he used the scepter on him. Even so, he didn’t have a lot of time if he wanted to take advantage while the younger Steve remained out of commission. Too many Steves, thought Steve, grimly. 

Leave the scepter and the Stone. Get out of there. Get it done. 

He worked quickly, unlocking the case. Rocket was the one that had explained how it worked. “Wait, stop!” Rocket had yelled when Tony was about to crack the gem casing to release the Stone. “What are you doing? You can’t just break the thing. This is an advanced weapon of the highest order. It’s a goddamn work of art. Look, I’ll show you. Give it to me.” 

Rocket had a thing for weapons. When he held the specter, everyone headed for cover, but no blast of energy came. Instead, the scepter smoothly changed shape to an easily held metal rod of similar design, and the jewel casing retracted, revealing the yellow Stone inside. 

“See? What I tell ya?” said Rocket. “The scepter can be a vessel for any one of these doodads.” He pointed to the Infinity Stones. “Ooh, hand me that red one.” 

With cries of protest from all quarters, they had quickly moved the process along, forcing Rocket to focus on the gauntlet. 

In the Tower, Steve expanded the scepter, and the jewel casing enclosed the Stone again. With a strap he’d added to the case, he swung it over his shoulder, then used a wizard trick he’d learned while in Kamar-Taj to mask it so the case wasn’t visible to anyone. 

No one had come looking for Captain America yet, and he cautiously crept out into the open, ready to set the scepter down beside his body. But then he sensed movement behind him. He stopped, and—

“What are you doing?” asked Loki, appearing right beside Steve, looking over his shoulder.

“Jesus.” Steve nearly dropped the scepter. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“I’m not Jesus. I’m Loki,” explained Loki, like he was speaking to a small child. He still had cuts and bruises on his face, but the gag and cuffs were gone. “And I asked you first,” said Loki, narrowing his eyes at Steve, then glancing down at the unconscious Steve on the floor. “Why are there two of you? Isn’t one plenty?”

“That’s rich, coming from you. You are not supposed to be here,” said Steve in a desperate whisper. “You took the Tesseract, didn’t you? You should be clear across the universe. Why in God’s name have you come back?”

“I was curious. Something clearly went amiss,” he said, but as he spoke his eyes traveled over Steve’s face. Before Steve could stop him, Loki placed the flat of his palm against Steve’s forehead. The world went away, and Steve was thrown unwillingly into memories. They were wrenched from him, one after the other: Thanos arriving in Wakanda, Thor burying his axe into Thanos’s chest, the Snap. Then, Bucky turning to dust, the list of the missing, Thanos’s garden and his desiccated arm, his head rolling to the floor. The memories lingered on Thor. Five years later, and they were fighting Thanos again. He stood alone against all of Thanos’s army.

With a gasp, Steve managed to call Mjolnir to him from where he’d left it safely hidden in the stairwell. Loki’s eyes widened in surprise when he saw the hammer. The connection broke, and then Steve knocked Loki onto his backside.

“You’re from the future,” said Loki, speaking from the floor. “Or, at least, a future. _How_ do you have Mjolnir?”

“It’s a long story.” He hauled Loki up to standing. This was supposed to have been an easy mission: get in, leave the scepter, and get out. Now everything was hopelessly complicated. He glanced at the other Steve, beginning to regain consciousness. Goddamn it.

To add to the chaos, a second Mjolnir flew in, shattering glass and stone. In desperation, Steve thrust the scepter into Loki’s hands who meekly took it so Steve could catch the second hammer. 

“Not you, too,” said Steve to the second Mjolnir. “You belong to this Thor. Go back to him.” 

He threw the second hammer back in the direction it came from. Loki gaped at him, still meekly holding the scepter. Of all the individuals to discover him, it had to be Loki. And this particular Loki, as well. This embittered, genocidal Loki, whom Steve had to now somehow reason with. 

Steve dragged Loki away from the rapidly gaining conscious Steve Rogers on the ground, until they were hidden around the corner. He slammed Loki against the wall.

“Well,” said Steve, expectantly. “You have the scepter and the Tesseract again. Isn’t that what you want?” 

Loki’s surprised expression changed to a piercing look. “What happened?”

Steve looked into Loki’s eyes, then made a decision. This timeline was so far off the rails he didn’t think it mattered anymore. He spoke quickly. “Your pal Thanos is what happened. In six years, he got all six Infinity Stones. Wiped out half of all living creatures, across the entire universe. He killed you when he took the Tesseract, so you’re not even around to help fix it, thank you very much. Snapped your neck, right in front of Thor. Permanently dead,” he added. “I don’t think Thor ever got over it. After he did what he did, Thanos destroyed the Stones. Our only hope to restore everyone was to go back in time and steal them back. Even then we barely managed, and it cost us…” He didn’t finish. “My mission is to put them back. So, now you know what happened. You can leave. Take the Tesseract and the scepter, and do whatever you want.”

Loki did nothing but stare at him for an entire two seconds, then he handed the scepter back to Steve. “I won’t take it,” he said. “But I want to know everything.”

The other Steve had gotten to his feet by then and was looking around bewildered. 

“Shit,” said Steve, pulling them slightly further back and out of view. Any second, and they would be discovered.

Loki gaped at him again, looking even more shocked at Steve swearing than he was at the revelation that Thanos killed him. “What wild universe do you come from?” asked Loki, with wonder. 

Steve briefly considered activating the time suit and simply exiting the situation, dropping the scepter then vanishing into the quantum realm and letting Loki either get caught or escape again. But it felt too cowardly. “Quick. Disguise us. I’ll tell you what you want to know, but we can’t be seen. Disguise us.”

Loki was still looking at him in full confusion but seemed to realize the urgency of the situation. In the next second, Steve saw magic sparks pass over Loki as he changed into Clint Barton. Similar sparks passed over Steve. He was suddenly a lot shorter, which sent him into a visceral flashback to the early 1940s, but the black tactical suit, breasts, and rounded hips told him exactly whom he looked like. 

Squaring his shoulders, and taking a breath to steady himself, he walked out to meet his younger self, with the scepter in one hand and Mjolnir in the other. 

“Rogers,” he called, speaking in Natasha’s voice. He paused, the shock of it washing over him, but he forced himself to continue. 

The other Steve looked over and recognized Natasha, then looked at Loki-as-Barton, relaxing when he saw his two teammates. “What happened? Loki get away? Any sign of him?”

“No sign,” said Steve, in Natasha’s voice. Was it weird that he wanted to continue speaking just so he could hear her voice again? “But I found this.” He held out the scepter. 

The other Steve took it. And with that, the Mind Stone was delivered. Relief flooded over him. Two down, four more to go.

“Why did he leave it?” asked the other Steve, looking at the scepter with confusion. “I couldn’t stop him. He could have had both the Tesseract and the scepter back.”

“Perhaps,” said Loki-as-Barton, in Barton’s voice but sounding nothing like him. “He had a change of heart.”

Both Steves frowned at him but for different reasons. The guards arrived, and the younger Steve began issuing orders for another floor-by-floor sweep. 

“Steve,” he said, calling himself by his first name to get his attention. He realized, by the strange expression the other Steve gave him, that it would have been the first time he’d heard Natasha say his given name. “Maybe it wasn’t Loki.”

“What do you mean?” Steve said, but he took notice of Mjolnir held by a Natasha that wasn’t Natasha. His eyes narrowed.

“I mean, Stark said Loki took the Tesseract. Maybe there’s another explanation.” Steve knew they wouldn’t be able to keep this up much longer, but he hadn’t been trying that hard—only long enough to give the other Steve the scepter. 

The elevator dinged, and everyone turned to see who it was. The doors slid open, and out stepped the real Natasha and Barton, accompanied by another tactical team. There was a comical moment of suspension, then everyone moved at once. The other Steve yelled, “Stop them!” but the TAC team weren’t certain which Natasha and Barton to stop. Half attacked the real Natasha and Barton, and the other half came after Steve and Loki. Steve raised Mjolnir, sending a blast of lightning that knocked everyone back. But Natasha came charging at him, leaping onto his shoulders, wrapping her legs around his neck. He knew what would happen next, and he managed to twist out of the hold, trapping Natasha with his arms. 

It was just for a split second, but he held her close, wondering what it must look like—two Natashas fighting each other. “I’m sorry,” he said to her, and he took in every detail of her face—those green eyes, the cut on her lip, and another cut on her forehead. It pierced his heart, how much he missed her. Then, he threw her at the other Steve, who caught her.

It provided only a moment of distraction. Soon Steve and Loki were surrounded. He reached out and placed a hand on Loki, to both steady him and to send him a message. Somehow, Loki understood, and in the next second, the illusion broke and they returned to looking like themselves. A whisper of surprise rippled over everyone, following by more tension as every weapon was aimed at Loki. 

“Hold it, hold it,” cried Steve, holding his hands out, one of them grasping Mjolnir. “Don’t shoot. Please.” 

No one fired but the tension rose up another notch. He straightened as he faced his younger self. 

“Give us a reason,” said the other Steve. God, he thought, seeing the rigid anger on his own face. He was so young, and there was so much ahead of him.

“Steve,” he said. There wasn’t time for everything he wanted to say, certainly not in front of this many people. “The Strike team is Hydra.” He ignored the other Steve’s look of surprise, and spared a thought for Wanda. With the scepter’s future so uncertain, he had to trust the timeline would fix itself enough for her and her brother, for Vision as well. “Find Bucky.” 

As before, mentioning Bucky shocked the other Steve. He tried, without having the words or the time to say it, to convey to his younger self that he was speaking the truth. 

“Find him,” he repeated. “Rumlow will know where, but he’s Hydra, so don’t trust him.”

Thor flew in from the lower floors, landing beside Barton and Natasha, swinging his own Mjolnir. “Loki!” he roared, coming after him. 

It was Loki’s turn to swear, looking terrified. “Shit.”

It was Mjolnir against Mjolnir, Steve blocking Thor, sending Thor’s hammer flying backward. Steve grabbed Loki. “Get us out of here,” he yelled.

Loki opened a portal, and they fell backward through it just before Thor could reach them. It was a mere second of nothingness, and then they landed in a crowded, murky bar. Steve gasped, trying to catch his breath. Loki was already hailing the bartender, and ordering drinks. Steve looked around and realized this was no ordinary bar. Or, at least, it wasn’t a bar on Earth. Aliens, both big and small and from several different species, crowded nearby. He saw strange beings of every sort with skin colors ranging across the rainbow. Steve thought he spotted a few robots. The noise was deafening. No one noticed or cared that Steve and Loki appeared out of nowhere, stepping from a portal that had opened up in the middle of the room. 

Just your local neighborhood space bar, thought Steve. Well, this might as well happen. He pulled up a stool and sat down, placing Mjolnir on the counter. 

Loki handed him his drink—some kind of smoking, whiskey-like shot of alien alcohol. They both downed them in one, then set the glasses down. Steve had expected it to burn, but it was like liquid smoke, silky all the way until it hit his stomach in a pool of heat. Loki ordered two more. 

“All right,” said Loki, turning to face Steve as the next two drinks were served. “Tell me everything.”

Steve tightened his jaw as he studied Loki. The thing was, if properly motivated, Loki might be the answer to help prevent what happened with Thanos in his own timeline from happening in this one. He was definitely a wild card. But, Steve guessed Loki was too much the trickster god to be trusted; his nature would betray him. What could reach Loki? What could touch his heart?

“You died for him, you know,” he said, and watched as Loki froze. There was a flash of emotion, sharp and bright, across his face. Disbelief, but also pain and…Ah, thought Steve. So he did love his brother. That gave him hope. 

“I find that hard to believe,” said Loki.

Steve shrugged. “It’s true.” 

Over the years, Steve had pieced together most of the story, between what Thor and Bruce had told them, as well as what Rocket had said, and Valkyrie, once the Asgardians had arrived on Earth. 

“Thanos began with the Power Stone, which was on a planet called Xandar. He had the Power Stone already when he found your people, homeless, on a refugee ship from Asgard to Earth. Asgard had been destroyed in something called Ragnarok.” Surprise and shock, but also recognition, fought for dominance across Loki’s face, but he didn’t interrupt Steve. “During the attack, Thor’s primary concern was ensuring the escape of as many of his people as he could manage. As a result, the ship was easily captured. Thanos let half of your people leave, but overpowered Thor, and used the Power Stone on him. He gave you a choice—your brother’s life, or the Tesseract.” Steve paused. Loki’s face was like a mask, unreadable, yet clearly gut-punched. “You gave him the Tesseract. Thanos killed Heimdall.” Another shock, Loki growing paler by the second. “Then he killed you. Thanos left Thor for dead when he destroyed the ship.”

Loki stared at the surface of the bar, his eyes searching for something in the alien texture. Steve was beginning to read him well enough to guess what he was thinking. 

“A lot happened after that,” he continued. “Thor had a pretty rough go of it. Out of all of us, he lost the most. He never recovered from seeing you killed in front of him. Like that. You apparently have a habit of dying on him, but...not permanently.”

Loki’s confusion didn’t leave. They finished their drinks. “And then what happened,” asked Loki, his skin pale, his fingers shaking a little. 

Steve, deciding to gamble everything on one lonely trickster god, told him what he knew. It took a while, and they went through many drinks. After, they fell silent again. 

Steve stared at his…sixth? …seventh? drink. The alcohol made him fuzzy, but they couldn’t get him drunk. He wanted to reach into his pockets and take out the compass, take out the notebook with the photographs in it. But he didn’t, and he forced himself to sit there, unmoving.

Loki finished his drink, then turned to him. “Well,” he said, dismissive. “Thank you for that remarkable story. I don’t believe a word of it. But it was very entertaining.”

Steve raised both eyebrows. “All right,” he said, amicably. He finished the rest of his drink, picked up Mjolnir—which seemed to anger Loki more—and rose from his stool. “Uh. I don’t have space money, so you’ll have to pay for these. Good luck with everything.”

He’d taken three steps toward the exit, hoping wherever this bar was there was an atmosphere outside. He’d find a quiet hidden corner where could activate the time suit unseen, and move on to the next part of the mission. 

“Wait,” called Loki. Steve stopped, smiled inwardly before he turned. Loki looked thoroughly put out, practically seething with resentment and anger. Through a clenched jaw, he pointed to Steve’s abandoned seat. “Please,” he said. “Stay a little longer.”

He considered leaving anyway, but his gut told him to take his seat, and play this out to the end. 

Still having an internal debate with himself, Loki didn’t take his eyes off Steve, his nostrils flaring. He didn’t seem ready to speak again, so Steve looked around at the other bar patrons. He felt like they had been there for hours, but the bar showed no signs of closing. 

“Can you travel between realities?” asked Loki, pulling Steve’s attention back to him. Steve almost smiled at the question, remembering Bucky’s reaction when he’d asked the same thing. “Well? Can you?” asked Loki. “If you leave this reality, can you return to it? In say, five seconds?”

Steve shook his head, then shrugged. “Possibly. It hasn’t been tried yet, with the tech I have. But, from everything I know, it’s possible.”

“Do it,” said Loki. 

“No,” he said, ignoring Loki’s affronted look. “This might come as a surprise to you, but I have other, more important, things I have to get to.”

“So, go finish whatever you must, and then come back here. And bring…” but he struggled with what he wanted to ask, his expression betraying his heart. “Bring him.” 

“Why?” asked Steve, though he had a pretty good guess why. Then, inspiration struck him. “If I do that, I need something from you in return.”

Loki narrowed his eyes, giving Steve a sharp, shrewd look. “You know,” he said. “You really have changed considerably, Steven. I quite like this devious, manipulative Captain. And don’t think I don’t know you’ve been manipulating me this entire conversation, trying to play me into acting the hero for this reality. What would you demand of me?”

“Teach me how to do that thing. The illusion. That makes you look like someone else. It would be useful, to mask my face, or change how I look.”

Loki raised one eyebrow, then shook his head. “Impossible,” he said. 

“Time travel is supposed to be impossible, and yet here I am,” said Steve. 

“You simply lack the talent, and the ability. You’re far too mundane and stolid. And mortal. In short, my dear fellow, you have to be able to lie, which you are categorically unable to do. It can’t be done.”

Steve studied Loki. This Loki only knew the Steve Rogers from 2012. But that wasn’t him anymore. He’d seen too much, and lost too much. “I can lie,” he said, calmly. 

Loki looked doubtful, but then he saw something in Steve that gave him pause, bringing a slight crease to his forehead. “You have gone through a lot, haven’t you?” he asked, narrowing his eyes.

Steve didn’t answer. He picked up Mjolnir, flipping it with one hand like he’d seen Thor do. Loki looked wary, pulling slightly back. Steve held the hammer and used both hands to pass over it, encircling it, and made the hammer vanish from sight. He held up both hands, wiggling his fingers. “Something the wizards on Earth taught me. Give me a chance,” he said. “I might surprise you.”

Loki was trying to hide a smile, though he was also studying Steve closely again. “If...if! I could manage it, it would take time to teach you. This isn’t parlor tricks, you understand. I can’t just snap my fingers like Thanos and give you this ability.”

“Well, fortunately time is one thing I have in spades.” 

Loki opened his mouth to protest more, but then shut it. And Steve knew he’d won, resisting the urge to smile triumphantly. “All right,” said Loki. “I’ll do it. I’ll teach you my tricks, as Thor always calls them. And when we’re done, you come back to this bar. Right here. Five seconds after you leave. Can it be done?”

“Shall we find out?” asked Steve.

Loki rolled his eyes. “I’m going to regret this,” he said, shaking his head. 

“Pretty sure we both will,” said Steve. That actually made Loki laugh, and they both smiled briefly before remembering who they were to each other and why they were in this ridiculous situation. 

“Come,” said Loki. “This place has rooms for rent, on the upper floors. It’ll suit our purposes.”

They got up from the bar together. The bartender gave them a knowing, gruff sort of approving look when Loki said they needed a room. Steve felt his ears burn hot. “Did you have to put it like that?” asked Steve, as they hurried away from the bar. “Like we’re having a tryst or something?”

“A tryst?” asked Loki, smirking. “What a divine idea.” If possible, Steve blushed more. “Fear not, fair lad. Your virtue is safe with me. This way, if you please.”

“You go first,” said Steve, not trusting Loki behind him, for several reasons, and very conscious of the fact that between them they had two Space Stones, something he did not want Loki to realize, not to mention all the other Stones hidden in the case. 

Loki didn’t protest but only grinned in a very wicked manner as he led Steve through the noisy bar to the back hallway. He stopped when he got to the stairs, and turned toward Steve, towering over him as he stood on the first couple of steps. “If you’re wondering if you can trust me, you can’t,” said Loki. “I will betray you.”

Steve folded his arms across his chest. “I know. But I also know I have the advantage.”

“Oh,” said Loki, far too smug. “And what is that?”

“You want me to succeed.”

Loki pinched his lips. His nostrils flared, but he didn’t deny it. “Very well, Captain. Let’s see what you can do.”

Then, he turned to go up the stairs, and Steve followed him.

*

Turned out, they were on a planet—a cold icy wasteland that housed many different space bars, casinos, and other establishments of ill repute. It was like Las Vegas but freezing. But Steve concentrated on achieving his goal, day in and day out, and he got used to the colorful background of Contraxia.

When he managed to fool Loki for an entire hour, pretending to be one of the android cocktail waitresses serving Loki drink after drink, he knew it was time he left. Loki didn’t catch on, talking to him the whole time, even flirting. 

“Gotcha,” said Steve, releasing the illusion. They were at the bar, surrounded by its usual boisterous crowd.

At first, Loki looked offended, but then he tried not to smile, a faint splash of color on his cheeks. Any other day Steve would have teased him, but he wanted to stay on Loki’s good side for now. “All right. I’m impressed,” said Loki, with grudging acknowledgment. Then, his expression grew serious, taking note that Steve wore his uniform. “You’ll be leaving now.”

He had everything—the case with the remaining Stones hidden, and Mjolnir resting on the bar, everything else safely stored in his various pockets. The time travel device was around his palm. He was anxious to get off this icy rock, to move on to the next part of his mission. “Just about,” he said. 

Loki nodded, a muscle clenching in his jaw the only sign that he cared what happened next. He held up his hand showing all five fingers. “Five seconds from now,” he said. “Let’s see you do it.”

Steve took a deep breath, standing in what little open space there was in front of Loki. No one else at the bar paid them any attention. He initiated the suit, and the helmet closed over his face. Their eyes locked as Loki took a sip from his drink. And then Steve was gone.


	3. The Space Stone

When he returned to New Jersey, Camp Lehigh bustled with energy like nothing much had changed. He saw a flash of his other self and Tony before they disappeared.

It was easier, now that he could disguise himself. No one questioned his presence. No one stopped and wondered who he was or why he looked so familiar. He took on the appearance of a man of similar height and build whom he’d seen leaving the camp in a jeep, then he slipped into the busy foot traffic that wove in and around the camp. 

Different hair color, different facial features, different clothes, once inside the SHIELD bunker, he made his way down several sub-levels to the archives and cold storage. It was chilly down there, contrasting with the muggy New Jersey heat, and the place echoed, vast and endless—this was where Zola’s data banks would be stored in later years, he realized. Glancing around to make sure he was alone, it took a moment to locate the correct container, but he found the one that had been opened by laser. 

Unlike the scepter, they had had to cut the crystal encasing the Space Stone, but Tony and Rocket had preserved it in clean pieces. “In theory,” said Bruce when they were going over the mission plans. “The Space Stone will seal the crystal again.”

“In theory?” asked Steve. 

Bruce made a face, and shrugged. “It’s the best I can do, man. I mean, think about it. How’d they get the thing in there in the first place?” 

They hadn’t tried it beforehand because if it worked, then he’d have to carry the Tesseract—something they wanted to avoid by having all the Stones safely contained in the secure case. 

Steve opened the case and took out each piece of of the Tesseract. Using a pair of tongs, he set the Stone in the center. Nothing happened. The archive echoed hollowly, and he heard other voices from a few rows over. He needed to get out of there. Quickly, he scooped up all the pieces and the Stone into his hands, holding them together like a 3D puzzle, squeezing hard. Even though he didn’t think it would work, he commanded silently in his mind: _Seal_. He almost dropped the Tesseract in surprise when it worked and the cube sealed itself back together again. 

“Well, I’ll be damned, would you look at that,” he muttered to himself, mentally sending a big thank you to Bruce. He put the cube back in its place in the container. “There you go,” he said to the cube, like it was a living thing. “And would you do me a favor and stop causing so much trouble?” 

The cube shone bluely innocent. Steve shook his head and shut the container. Three down, three more to go. The voices were getting closer. He returned everything to his pockets and closed the case with the remaining Stones before ducking out of sight just in time. Listening carefully, he made out two different sets of voices coming from the same aisle that the Tesseract was in. He was about to leave when he recognized one of the voices. 

“Container 4302,” said Armin Zola. “Careful, Alexander.”

“But, sir,” said a much younger man, and with a gut punch, Steve also recognized Alexander Pierce. He shifted to get a better look and saw both men—one short with round glasses, and the other tall, blonde, and handsome. “Shouldn’t we…” 

“All in good time,” said Zola. “The asset will handle it.”

Unadulterated fury threatened to overwhelm Steve. He’d never had such a strong desire to blindly kill before. His entire body tensed with coiled anger, and his pulse thumped in his ears. He didn’t care if it made no difference, he was going to punch Zola and Pierce repeatedly, and make them tell him where Bucky was.

As clearly as if he stood beside him, he heard Bucky say, “Don’t do anything stupid.”

_How can I? You’re taking all the stupid with you._

The memory threw an icy cold splash over Steve’s anger. 

With his heart pounding so strongly he thought he might burst an aorta, Steve broke out in a sweat listening to Zola and Pierce’s voice grow distant as they headed for the archive exit. Goddamn it, he thought, breathing hard. He knew eliminating Zola and Pierce wouldn’t make a difference to this timeline. Hydra was already too entrenched. It would survive Zola’s and Pierce’s death, and Bucky would still be in their clutches. Cut off one head, two more shall take its place. 

Even though it was futile, Steve followed Zola and Pierce out of the archives and onto one of the upper floors. When Zola and Pierce parted ways on sub-level six, Steve decided to stick with Zola. Zola was easier to follow—he had a unique, awkward gait, and his hat and glasses stood out. So intent was he in following Zola in the hopes that he’d give a clue to Bucky’s whereabouts, Steve didn’t pay attention to where he was going. Rounding a corner, he bumped into someone coming the other way. 

“Oof,” said the woman, falling and landing hard on her rear end, several files spilling to the ground. 

“Oh God, I’m sorry,” said Steve, automatically reaching to help her. He recognized her perfume just as he took her hands and looked into her face. His heart stopped. “Peggy,” he said, unwittingly, helplessly.

Peggy grimaced, very annoyed at the disruption. “You should look where you’re going,” she said, raising her eyes. She froze. 

Reason and sense returned to him like a punch to the jaw. He’d allowed himself to become so distracted by Zola that, with the shock of seeing Peggy, he’d dropped the illusion masking his face. He held her hands, touched her skin. They both stared at each other, ignoring the rest of the world as others jostled against them. Why was the bunker so full of people? Her eyes were exactly as he remembered, a kind of reddish-brown. 

“Steve,” she whispered, seeking answers, almost pinching his hands, holding so tightly. 

“I…” he started. “This is…”

Just then, he heard someone call out. “That’s him, right there. That’s one of the men from earlier.” 

He looked over and saw the woman from the elevator—God, that had been years ago for him, he’d almost forgotten her. Years ago for him, but only about half an hour for the woman. Several MPs rushed toward him. In a flash, he looked at Peggy and changed his appearance—not the same as before, in case someone had witnessed him earlier or there had been video surveillance of him going to the archives. He remembered a picture of his father, and changed his face to match his. Peggy opened her mouth to speak, a crease between her eyes as she saw his transformation, but the MPs arrived, pushing past her to take him into custody. 

“Peggy,” he said again as he was dragged away. He tried to keep looking at her. She was surrounded now, with aides helping to pick up her files and several men and women asking if she was okay. Peggy didn’t acknowledge them. They did not break eye contact until the MPs pulled him down the hallway and around another corner, tossing him into a locked windowless room with a two-way mirror. 

Well, that went great. He fumed at himself. He had known returning to 1970 was going to be a challenge, but he had been firm with himself—strictly focus on the Tesseract, complete his mission, move on to the next part. Consequences, he thought. There were always consequences. 

His enhanced hearing picked up voices on the other side of the door and the two-way mirror. The woman from the elevator was speaking to the MPs. “Well, that’s not him. That’s someone else. But who is this man, now? Why are there so many strangers around today? Are we just letting anyone wander around here?”

In the mirror, he saw what he looked like —his father had been dark Irish, with brown. almost black hair, and dark brown eyes, but they shared the same shape to their faces. Different mouths, a different nose. Not quite as tall, and a slighter build. In coloring, Steve had taken after his mother’s side of the family.

MPs were stationed in the room with him, and an agent came in to ask questions: his name, did he have identification, why was he here? He refused to answer. “I’ll speak to Director Carter,” he said, glancing at the mirror. His voice, when he spoke, was a different timber than his own. Was this what his father had sounded like? “No one else. Only her.”

They handcuffed him to the chair. He could break the cuffs easily, and he had the option of activating the time suit and leaving, but he wanted a chance to fix this, if he could. Of course, he wanted to see Peggy again. He knew she was behind the mirror. 

More agents in grey suits entered—they blurred together, indistinct from each other—asking variations on the same questions. He stopped speaking entirely, and they left him alone. Maybe forty minutes passed before the door to the interrogation room opened, and Peggy Carter walked in. He sat up straight, tracking her every move. Her perfume filled the space, and he breathed in deeply.

She sat opposite him and set a folder down on the tabletop. “You asked to see me?” She spoke in her Agent Carter voice. He remembered it well, and it sent shivers through his body. 

“I’m…” his voice failed him. Tongue-tied, like a schoolboy. He swallowed, trying again. “Did I hurt you? Earlier?”

Peggy raised an eyebrow. “It takes more than a tumble like that to hurt me.”

“Of course. I’m sorry anyway, for the inconvenience,” he said, unable to tear his eyes off her. She had gray in her hair now, and the most delicate lines around her eyes. These changes made her lovely—this not-quite-half-way-point in her life, from when he had known her in her twenties to when he knew her in her nineties. Today, she wore a dark blue dress, her hair pulled back in a barrette. It suited her. He would never tire of looking at her. 

She cleared her throat, and he realized he had been staring without speaking for several long seconds. Her eyes showed a flicker of amusement mixed with confusion—searching for answers to what she’d seen earlier when he changed his appearance. She opened the folder on the table, separating out several photographs. “Can you identify these men? Will you identify them?”

They were pictures of Tony and himself from their earlier visit to 1970. Tony’s face was completely visible, and they had several shots of him, both from around the camp and from inside the SHIELD bunker, speaking with a man Steve recognized as Howard Stark. The photographs of Steve were more obscured. Tony hadn’t been concerned with being recognized, but Steve had, so he’d hidden his face more. At the time they hadn’t worried about surveillance. It hadn’t mattered—they weren’t planning on staying that long and hadn’t realized they would need to come back. 

They didn’t have any pictures of him in his previous disguise, from when he returned the Tesseract—they hadn’t figured that part out.

“I can’t,” he said. 

She frowned slightly. It wasn’t the answer she had been expecting. He guessed she thought he would deny all knowledge, but he didn’t want to lie to her. Her fingertips remained touching the one photograph that showed most of his face. She pushed it toward him, asking without words to answer her. Who is this man?

“Peggy,” he said, his mouth dry, aware that they were being watched, that every word he spoke was being recorded. “I’m sorry I missed our date. Saturday, at the Stork Club. Eight p.m.”

She gave herself away with a flash of shock behind her eyes, a slight flare to her nostrils. He was taking the risk in assuming that Peggy never shared what they had said to each other before the plane went down, that she’d chosen to keep that conversation private between them. There had never been any transcripts, and he’d never seen any reference to it.

He tried to nod without nodding. Yes, it’s me. 

_How can it be you?_

There wasn’t an answer he could give her, not in that room. The MPs shifted, and he heard shoe leather squeak and the tiniest noise of fabric against fabric. Peggy glanced at the officers. 

“Listen,” he said, and this time he spoke to everyone listening, and not just Peggy. “I know you won’t believe me, but these pictures—these men, and why they’re here—it has nothing to do with SHIELD. Nothing to do with anything going on here. It won’t mean anything.”

“Thank you for the reassurance,” she said, a little dryly. “But we can’t just take your word for it.”

“No. I guess you can’t.” He shook his head, looking around the room, then back at her. “I can’t stay long.”

She creased her brow and lowered her eyes. Steve counted to three, waiting to see which choice she would make. With a sudden, sharp business-like push away from the table, Peggy gathered the photographs into a pile and placed them back in the folder as she stood up. “And I’ve clearly wasted my time here. You said you would only speak with me. Well, I’m here, and you won’t provide answers. What is your mission? Who do you work for? When you’re ready to answer let the guards know.” 

Without another word, she took the file with the photographs and left. He had no idea if he had gotten through to her or not, if the understanding he thought had passed between them wasn’t a figment of his imagination. An hour passed, then two. He kept extending the time in his mind. He’d give it another half hour, and then he’d leave. Another twenty minutes. Five more minutes. 

There was an explosion, somewhere in the bunker. It shook the ground and rattled the door. Steve straightened in his seat, recognizing a diversion when he heard one. The MPs looked at each, and the taller one took out his walkie talkie, trying to contact his superiors. Steve heard a loud thump outside the room, and then the sound of a scuffle. More thumps. The MPs headed for the door but it burst open and three masked intruders came in, tasering the MPs unconscious. 

He smelled a familiar perfume. “Peggy?” he asked.

The shortest intruder rushed forward. “Don’t resist,” she whispered, then taped his mouth shut. A moment later a bag went over his head as his hands were released from the handcuffs only to be taped together. They taped his legs together, too.

“Hurry,” whispered Peggy to the other two. 

“You didn’t tell me he’d be so heavy,” complained one of the men as they carried Steve from the room. Steve felt a thrill, recognizing Howard Stark. 

“This way, sir,” said the third person. 

There was no more speaking after that. They carried him into an elevator, then out of the building, dumping him onto the back of a truck. Then, they were driving, somewhere. It seemed a very long time, and he tried to relax as the truck jostled and rocked him side to side. He could break the tape that bound him and was very tempted to do so, but he resisted, recognizing when the truck drove on surface streets versus when it drove on a highway, then on surface streets again. Eventually, it stopped. 

They pulled him from the truck bed and took the bag off his head. He blinked as his eyes adjusted. His hands were cut free, and he removed the tape from his mouth himself, wincing slightly as it stung.

“Sorry,” said Peggy, softly, standing in front of him, her mask off. “It needed to look convincing, for the cameras.”

He sighed when he saw her, then noticed Howard, and a third man Steve didn’t recognize, taller than Howard by several inches. They were standing in front of a warehouse in a wooded area, with floodlights beaming over the gravel road where they stood. Steve froze, then almost laughed when he realized where they were. He knew this place. He knew that warehouse, intimately. They had taken him to the Avengers compound, but nearly fifty years before it existed.

Steve turned toward the Hudson, gazing upon the familiar landscape that hadn’t changed all that much, even without the buildings Tony Stark would later build. He could see, not too far away, the future site where Bruce would construct the second quantum tunnel. 

He turned back to Peggy. Both Howard and the other man flanked her on both sides. “Who are you?” she asked. She was asking as the Director of SHIELD. 

Moment of truth, he thought. He closed his eyes, and released the illusion. It tingled across his skin. He let himself appear exactly as he was, all the way down to his Captain America uniform, with Mjolnir and the case with the remaining Stones.

“Holy shit,” said Howard. “You weren’t kidding.”

Peggy stepped closer, her eyes traveling over Steve’s face. “I…thought I imagined it.”

Steve shook his head. “I’m sorry for all this,” he said. “It wasn’t the plan.”

“What was the plan?” asked Howard. 

He started to answer, and then stopped. He couldn’t look at Peggy and lie. It just wasn’t in him to fabricate a story. “To return the Tesseract, then leave.”

“Return it?” asked Howard, disbelieving. He turned to Peggy. “He’s got to be an imposter. He’s using some kind of tech that can change his face. Or he’s been cut to look like Rogers. It’s not really him.”

Peggy didn’t take her eyes off Steve, stepping close enough to place a hand on his cheek. His vision blurred. It hurt to breathe. Always, he returned to that long ago ailment, his lungs squeezing shut. 

“It is you,” she said, her voice low. Howard opened his mouth to argue, but Peggy shook her head. A complicated rush of emotion washed over Steve, hearing Peggy be so certain. “It’s him, Howard.”

“If it really is Rogers, then where has he been all this time?” asked Howard. 

Steve took a deep breath, wiping his eyes. He had no idea where to start or how to explain or how much to say. He lifted his hand, showing the time travel device. “I’m not really here,” he said. “This thing allows me to travel through the quantum realm. I’m from the future. Or, a future. This was meant to be just a temporary stop.”

Howard’s eyes bugged out, practically hopping mad. “Time travel?” Steve couldn’t remember seeing Howard this upset any time during the war. Furious, Howard turned to Peggy. “This is bullshit. Time travel isn’t possible. Zola tried—” but he abruptly stopped when Peggy gave him a look, and Howard glanced furtively at Steve.

Steve didn’t react to the name. “You’re right,” he said to Howard. “Time travel shouldn’t be possible. It wasn’t, until your son figured out how to make it happen.”

“My son? I—” Howard shut his mouth, a dull flush coloring his cheeks. Steve saw something click in Howard’s expression. “That man from earlier? The one with the hippie beard? Howard Potts. You’re telling me that was my son?”

Steve couldn’t help but smile. Howard Potts. Oh, Tony. He was stabbed with profound regret and sorrow, but he managed to nod. “Your son. Tony. His name…is Tony.”

Howard looked stunned, as if his son had just been an idea before but now was a real actual presence. But he shook his head. “You said the quantum realm?” He turned again to Peggy. “Hank Pym and that goddamn particle. That’s what this is about.” Then he rounded on Steve again. “What did you need the Tesseract for?”

“Howard,” said Peggy, putting a hand on his arm. They fell silent as she gathered her thoughts. “You’re from the future?” she asked. “But that would mean…” She swallowed, growing pale as she realized exactly what that meant. 

This was a lot harder than Steve ever could have anticipated. Not that he had sat around imaging such a scenario. Nowhere in the non-existent time travel handbook did it explain how to shatter every belief held by those he loved. 

“Tony warned me. He said, ‘you mess with time, it tends to mess back.’” Howard snorted. “I guess this is partly what he meant. Peggy, Howard,” Steve struggled. There was no gentle way to say it. “I didn’t die, when I went into the ice.” Peggy inhaled, her hand covering her mouth. Steve wanted to punch himself in the head. “You couldn’t have known. It’s not your fault,” he said, pleadingly.

She swallowed. “How long?”

God, he thought, desperate to avoid this. “Almost seventy years.”

Peggy mouthed, “Seventy years?” without any sound. She was doing the math in her head.

“I don’t believe it,” said Howard, also very pale. “I searched the entire goddamn Arctic.”

Her eyes welled up, but her voice was strong. “And you’re in there? In the ice? Right now?”

“Yes. I’m not in any pain, if that helps.” She gave him a cutting look as the tears spilled over, and he swallowed everything else he wanted to say. 

The other man, who had been silent so far, took out a neat, folded handkerchief from his pocket and handed it to Peggy. She took it gratefully. “Thank you,” she said. 

“This is bullshit,” repeated Howard. “This man’s a con artist. This is an elaborate scam. Let’s get the boys here. We can run tests if you like. Meanwhile, let him cool his heels in a cell.”

“Stop, Howard,” said Peggy, frustrated. With a look of apology, she pulled Howard away some distance from Steve, and they proceed to have an argument. Steve’s hearing allowed him to listen to some of it, but it didn’t give him any comfort. 

Left standing beside the other man, they looked at each other awkwardly. “I’m Steve Rogers,” said Steve, introducing himself. It seemed the polite thing to do. 

“Edwin Jarvis,” said Jarvis. “I work for Mr. Stark.”

“Jarvis?” asked Steve, wonderingly. He didn’t know why he expected the real Jarvis to look like Vision. Of course, he looked and sounded nothing like him. Steve realized he was probably meeting the man who actually raised Tony Stark. 

“That’s correct, sir.”

“Please, call me Steve.”

Jarvis didn’t say anything to this, though he inclined his head. He watched Steve rather intently, like he wanted to say something but didn’t think it was his place. Steve waited, turning to look at Peggy and Howard arguing, hungrily observing her mannerisms: how she scowled, the way she folded her arms across her chest. Peggy and Howard knew each other well. He read it in their body language, the familiarity with which they spoke to each other. It gave him a pang of jealously that he tried to ignore. 

“I’ve known Margaret Carter for a number of years now,” said Jarvis, echoing Steve’s thoughts as they both watched Howard and Peggy. “Since 1946, actually. Right after the war. She never stopped holding you in high esteem, not in all the years I’ve known her.”

Steve felt like someone had cut his chest open.

“But, even though she grieved for you, she never let it prevent her from living. She built SHIELD, partly in your honor. It is her memory of you that gives her the most strength when she is uncertain what path to follow.”

“What…” he swallowed, looking at Jarvis. “What are you saying?”

Jarvis frowned slightly. He’d kept his attention on Howard and Peggy. “Mr. Stark also carries grief for you. This grief has kept them connected, remaining in each other’s lives. Two such different individuals who share this in common. Over the years, I’ve seen how it changed them. It is a complicated world, Captain. And they’ve had to make difficult choices. Choices you might not like or agree with.”

Steve shook his head. “It’s no less complicated in the future, believe me. I’m… familiar with their history. I’m not here to judge.”

“Very good,” said Jarvis. “But I’m not speaking of what can be read in a history book, or even a top-secret file. I’m talking about right now.”

Jarvis’s meaning was veiled and opaque, but he looked directly into Steve’s eyes as though he was trying to convey what he truly wanted to say but couldn’t. Before Steve could ask for a better explanation, Peggy and Howard returned. 

Peggy didn’t waste any time and spoke right away. “Will you give us the location of your…of where we can find you, in the Arctic?” asked Peggy. 

“I can try,” said Steve, trying to read her signs. “The problem is everything shifts in that part of the world. Where I am now isn’t where I will be in 2012, and it isn’t where I was when I went down. The Valkyrie sank deep. The currents are different.”

Peggy reacted to the mention of the year, closing her eyes. “We can extrapolate, perhaps. Will you help us?” 

Steve thought about it, and then nodded. “But, there’s something you should know first.” He glanced at Jarvis—in just that one short conversation, Steve realized that he could trust Jarvis, perhaps even more than he could trust Peggy. She had obligations and duties, responsibilities that took precedent over him. She had an entire life without him. He realized part of what Jarvis had been trying to tell him: he could not expect Peggy to live up to the memory he carried of her, any more than he could live up to the memory they carried of him. It didn’t change how he felt, for her or for Howard, but it put in perspective what he had to do. “You might not like to hear it.”

“Steve,” said Peggy, with a resigned shake of her head. “This entire day is bordering on the intolerable.”

“I know,” he said, once again suppressing the urge to apologize. He wished he could ease into this, but there was no way for that to happen. “It has to do with Zola.”

“Oh, now,” interjected Howard. Peggy colored. “Don’t get all bent out of shape about that. You weren’t there. We made a strategic decision that served this country. He’s working for our team now.”

“Howard,” said Steve. “I’m not pointing fingers. But Zola is not working for you. He never has. He is Hydra. He brought Hydra with him, and he’s growing it inside SHIELD.”

They stared at him, both frowning. Howard shook his head. “That’s insane. You just don’t like him. I know he’s off-putting, but he’s useful. Why am I trying to justify this to you? I don’t have time for this. I should be home with my wife.”

“If you believe that I’m from the future—” said Steve. 

“Well, you put your finger right on the problem there, bud,” interrupted Howard.

“If you believe me,” continued Steve, speaking over Howard and trying to remain calm in the face of Howard’s distrust. “Then know I’m speaking about something that is fact. My past. I know what happens. Right now Hydra exists in the shadows. But they make their move into the light eventually. And along the way, they…” 

He stopped. He could tell he wasn’t reaching Howard at all. And what could he tell him anyway? 1991 was still years in the future. Both Howard and Peggy continued to stare at him. Howard swore again. “Am I expected to believe this?”

“Howard, please,” said Peggy. She turned to Steve, seemed about to say something then changed her mind. “Could we have a moment, to talk? Just you and I?” she asked Steve.

“Of course,” said Steve, trying not to show just how much he wanted that. 

Howard stalked off, returning to the truck. Jarvis joined him. Left alone, Steve waited for Peggy to give him some kind of sign, of what to say, or what she might be thinking. She wandered down the hill, then toward the riverfront, glancing at him to follow. They walked under the trees, neither speaking. The moon had risen sometime without Steve noticing, and it glowed over the water. There’s less light pollution in 1970, he realized, gazing at the stars. 

They came upon a bench not too far away. Peggy sat down, and Steve sat down beside her. 

“You don’t seem surprised,” he said, breaking the silence. 

“That Zola is a two-faced rat?” asked Peggy. “No. I argued against offering him asylum. I knew you would never have approved.”

“Hm,” said Steve. “Probably not.”

She gave him a little smile, and it was like she kissed him. He blushed, and looked down at her hands, seeing the wedding ring on her finger. With his heart pounding in his ears, he took her hand, opening her palm. Her skin was warm, her fingernails polished a dark red. It was the color he associated with her the most. When he met her eyes, they were full of sorrow and regret. 

“Peggy, don’t, please,” he begged her. 

“It’s been so long,” she said. Her eyes glimmered in the moonlight.

All decorum left him, and he pulled her into his arms. They didn’t weep. The time for weeping, for heartbreak and pain, belonged to younger versions of themselves. Even if he carried through with his plan, he would miss this Peggy, just as he missed the one he lost in 1945, and the one that passed away in 2016.

“One of the best days of my life was finding you again after coming out of the ice,” he said. It had been bittersweet, of course, but he had been so grateful. 

She still had Jarvis’s handkerchief, and patted her face. “You mean I’m still alive in seventy years? I must look like a scarecrow.” 

“Nah, you’re beautiful, as always,” he shook his head, wrapping both his hands around hers, his fingers studying her fingers, memorizing them. 

Though in reality they only had a few minutes, they lived a lifetime on that bench, the two of them gazing at the moonlit river, breathing in sync with her head resting against his chest. Small animals rustled in the underbrush nearby. Moonlight slid along the river, rippling in the breeze. This would end, and soon. Steve could feel the time pressure, the urgency ramping up. 

Peggy broke the silence first. She was passing her fingers lightly over the device on his hand. “What can you tell me about this mission you’re on?” 

He chose his words carefully. “There’s a… threat to Earth, to the entire universe actually. The Tesseract is one of six incredibly powerful objects we needed to fight this threat. Where I come from, these objects were destroyed. Our only hope was to go back in time and…well, borrow them. It’s my job to return them back to the times we took them from.” 

She was frowning again, trying to make heads or tails of what he was saying. “Do you defeat this threat? Do you win?”

“Not just me,” he said. “There were many of us. In the end, thousands fought together. But yes, we won.”

Her eyes caught everything, and he didn’t have to say the cost had been high. “How long have you been…” she trailed off, tracing his face with a finger, perhaps picking up on subtle details. Quantum time travel must leave its mark. “On your own?”

He hadn’t counted the days, weeks, maybe months and years since he’d stepped onto the quantum platform. Unlike Oregon, he didn’t have a daily rhythm to help keep track of time. He was still inside the countdown: five, four, three, two… “Not that long,” he said, his first lie to her.

She titled her head, raising an eyebrow, knowing he wasn’t being truthful. “And when you finish this mission, what will you do then?” 

Perhaps his silence was answer enough. She looked deep into his eyes, and he felt completely exposed. No part of him remained hidden. 

Peggy appeared to reconsider what she wanted to say next, giving him another questioning look. “This doesn’t change the future? What you’ve done here?” she asked. 

“It changes your future, but I can’t change my past,” he said. “Everything that happened in my time, happened. But things can play out differently for you. It’s difficult to explain.”

“I understand, I think. A little. Zola did a report on time travel, not that long ago.”

In the distance, he heard a faint fast mechanical thrumming—a helicopter—and underneath that, several cars approaching. He lifted his head, listening. The helicopter and cars were still too far away for Peggy to hear. Suddenly, the other half of Jarvis’s warning became clear. 

“Peggy,” he said. The helicopter was approaching from the south. “About Zola.”

She made a face, wincing. “Steve. What’s done is done. Unfortunately, we must work with him. Yes, he was Hydra, but this is the reality of modern politics. Nothing is as straightforward as it was in the war. I understand it’s a deal with the devil, but it’s been decades—”

“Not was,” he interrupted. “You’re wrong, Peggy.” Peggy looked affronted at this statement. “Not ‘was’ Hydra. He _is_ Hydra.” 

Though the other Avengers might have teased him for his old-fashioned attitude, and what Loki called ‘righteous indignation,’ Steve did understand gray morality. They tended to forget he fought in a war; he knew what it meant to compromise. He couldn’t admire Natasha Romanoff as much as he did and not understand that most things weren’t black or white. Most things fell somewhere in the middle. But, as he saw it, there was nothing gray about Hydra. 

“You’re looking at this from the wrong end,” he said to Peggy. “I know you’ve made difficult decisions. You don’t have to defend your decisions to me. That’s not what I’m saying here.” He paused. She looked pale in the moonlight. “Did you ever wonder how one world crisis fed into another crisis? How one assassination linked to another, and another? Who’s pulling the strings?”

“Steve, what are you saying?”

“Have you heard of a shadow assassin they sometimes call ‘The Winter Soldier?’”

She looked surprised. “I…yes.” Then, she spoke with real interest. “Do you know who he is?”

His heart was beating fast, but the rhythm mimicked the approaching helicopter, now close enough for Peggy to hear. He looked up at the sky, and Peggy did too, recognizing the sound. “We don’t have a lot of time,” he said. 

A look came over her face, and she turned to where Howard was standing by the truck. “Oh, no. What did he do?”

“I suspect Howard called it in. Probably a good while ago.”

She went white with anger. “I am going to skin him alive,” she said, already rising from the bench, speaking through clenched teeth.

“Peggy, wait,” he said, rising with her but blocking her path. “Don’t be too hard on him. This is a lot to take in, and he doesn’t believe me. Why should he? This whole thing is insane. But we don’t have a lot of time…and I have so much I have to tell you.”

The wind picked up, kicked into gear by the helicopter. “All right,” she said. “I’m listening.”

He took a breath, and swallowed. “I’m not the only one who didn’t die when they were supposed to. Bucky survived the fall from the train.”

She covered her mouth. “No. Steve.”

He didn’t stop, speaking louder as the noise increased. “The experiments Zola did on him in 1943 helped him survive the fall. He was captured. First by the Russians, and then later passed over to Hydra. Zola continued his experiments, made him into a super-soldier—like me, but with a metal arm. They had to hijack his mind to do it. By 1970, he’s entirely in their power. He doesn’t remember who he is, and he’s incredibly dangerous, as unstoppable as they come. He’s the Winter Soldier.”

Her eyes darted back and forth as she listened. “How do we…how do we find him? And stop him?” she asked, her Director of SHIELD personality coming forward.

“You don’t,” he said. “You can’t. No one is a match for him. Not yet, not in this time. No one but me can stop him, and bring him home. You have to find me. And then find him.” He took out his notebook and scribbled two different military grid reference numbers on a piece of paper before ripping it out and folding it into her hand. “My location in the ice in 2012, and what we assumed was my location when I went down in 1945. Find me. And then find Bucky. Zola will know where he is. Alexander Pierce might know, too.”

“No,” she said, aghast. “Not Alexander as well?”

“Oh, he’s worse than Zola.”

“But Steve—” she started.

“No, Peggy. You don’t understand. Listen to me.” He made sure she looked at him. Made sure she heard him. The helicopter began circling, its spotlight criss-crossing over their location. Several cars drove up, their headlights beaming into the woods. He saw at least a dozen men exit vehicles and begin their approach. “Zola dies two years from now. He’s probably already dying from cancer. But they keep his consciousness alive in a sea of data banks. Then Pierce takes over Hydra. In 1991, The Winder Soldier is ordered to assassinate Howard Stark.” Peggy’s eyes widen, her chest rising and falling as she listened. “Bucky kills both Howard and Maria. This isn’t about politics, or what’s black or white or gray.” He felt the urgency squeeze his throat. “You have no idea of the pain this causes. The damage.”

Men pointed their guns while the helicoptor hovered, its blades thwapping loudly. He could hear Howard ordering everyone not to shoot, but he ignored all of that and only looked at Peggy.

“Everything will play out differently now, so you will have to be careful. Especially when you bring Steve Rogers back from the dead. Hydra will come after you. Do you believe me?”

“Yes,” she said, barely above a whisper, her voice lost in the noise of the helicopter. She impatiently brushed her hair out of her eyes, tossed in every direction by the wind. “Yes. I believe you,” she said, louder.

He sighed with relief and wrapped her in his arms. “Thank you,” he whispered into her ear. She gripped him tight. The Ancient One had spoken to him at length about the inherent dangers of messing with time—in their pursuit of the Stones, the Avengers had created a mess of unstable branch realities. He was doing his best to fix them, though it felt each time he only added more to the problem. But, at least in this reality, he could put all his faith in Peggy Carter. “I’m sorry we don’t have more time.”

“I know,” she said, speaking into the cocoon of his arms. They were surrounded, men approaching from all sides. She gasped as he forced another illusion and changed his appearance to look like Howard Stark. “Steve?”

“Shh,” he said, the finger he placed against her lips sent a ripple of pleasure. He kept his back to the men, positioning himself between them and Peggy. 

Behind him he heard Howard speak. “All right,” said Howard. “Everyone just keep calm. Rogers, or whoever the hell you are, we’ve got you covered. Let her go. Peggy, come here.”

“Howard,” said Peggy, with her eyes on Steve-as-Howard, before turning to the real Howard. She raised an eyebrow in amusement at the absurdity of the situation. “You shouldn’t have done this. It wasn’t necessary.”

“I know,” said Howard. “You can yell at me later. Rogers. Come on in. We’re going back to camp, and we can verify you are who you say you are.” 

Steve turned slowly, both hands raised in the air. “You know I can’t go with you,” he said to Howard, in Howard’s voice, with Howard’s face. “Don’t make me fight you. Please.”

There was a murmur of confusion from the men, and Howard swore loudly. “That’s not me. He’s got some kind of technology that changes his face. Take him. Me. Whatever, just do it.”

Two men came forward, but it was nothing for Steve to disarm them. They were on the ground before anyone could blink, groaning. Several more rushed forward, and Steve made sure Peggy didn’t get hurt as he fought one after the other. With Mjolnir, he created a burst of wind that sent everyone back, tree branches swishing every which way, and the helicopter was thrown off course. Swiftly changing the illusion from Howard Stark to Clint Barton, he lifted Mjolnir and calling down lightning. The blast sent everyone flying backward, the truck tossed onto its side. The helicopter made a noise as if in pain. Its engine failed, with sparks sprouting in an arc. 

Steve, still looking like Clint Barton, let Mjolnir pull him into the air toward the helicopter. He freed the pilot and three other men, using their carabineers to latch them together before the helicopter crashed with an explosion. As he flew over the crowd, he dropped each man like live bombs onto the crowd one at a time. 

With a crackle of lightning, he landed beside Peggy. He smiled, probably giving her the patented Barton rascally grin. “Hold on,” he said, taking her by the waist. 

“Oh,” she said, her cheeks flushed pink as she clung to him. 

He swung Mjolnir fast, holding Peggy close. Once in the air, he was tempted to keep going and escape with her in his arms. But, he knew if he’d asked her to run away with him, she’d say no. Peggy was looking all around, searching the ground, not at all afraid of falling. 

“There,” she said, pointing down. Steve spotted a lone figure standing far back from the helicopter explosion, staying out of the way of the commotion. “That’s Jarvis.”

They landed without sound beside Jarvis, not far from the overturned truck. Steve changed his appearance again, shifting the illusion one more time to hopefully buy a few more seconds before he was recognized again. He chose to look like Natasha, and he didn’t examine too closely why—but he chose the Natasha he remembered from when they brought down Project Insight. He copied her hair, her clothes, her walk-don’t-run attitude.

“Goodness. Hello,” said Jarvis, with a bit of a start as if they’d appeared out of nowhere. “Director Carter. And… er… is it the Captain?”

“Steve?” asked Peggy, recovering her balance as Steve, reluctantly, let her go. “Honestly. I get used to you looking one way, and then you go and change it moments later. What is this ability you have? And who am I looking at now?”

“Oh. It’s just a trick a lonely god taught me.” That answer got him an exasperated eye roll. “This is Natasha. A friend of mine,” he said, in Natasha’s sultry voice. “She was a friend of mine.”

Peggy’s expressive eyes darkened with understanding, and she nodded. Down on the field, where the men were still trying to figure out where Steve and Peggy had disappeared to, Howard called out. “There she is,” pointing to Peggy. That didn’t take long, thought Steve. Howard started running toward them, wrangling the others to follow. 

“I have to go,” he said, no longer able to extend his time any further. He turned first to Jarvis. “Thank you,” he said.

Jarvis nodded in acknowledgment. “As always, I serve Mr. Stark’s interests first, though sometimes they run counter to his actions.” 

Steve smiled. “I know how that is. I probably don’t have to tell you this, but,” he said. “Howard’s son. He’s…he will be my friend. Tony is…” he wanted to say Tony was everything. “In the future, Tony Stark is everyone’s best hope. Look out for him. If you serve Howard’s interests, then Tony is it.”

Jarvis took a moment to digest this, then nodded. 

Steve turned to Peggy. He wondered what this looked like, him as Natasha standing so close to Peggy. This was likely the only way he would ever have two of the most important women in his life together, and that made him sad, but it was futile to wish for what he could never have.

He had only seconds left. Howard and the others were puffing their way up the hill. Steve tried to find his voice, to come up with some kind of goodbye but Peggy took hold of his hand. With him impersonating Natasha, they were closer in height.

“This feels a little familiar,” he said, with a smile. “I kind of miss being this height with you, being able to look you straight in the eye.”

She smiled, and it did things to his insides. “Even with a different face, I still know you,” she said. 

Howard was slowing down, seeing that Peggy was with another woman and there was no sign of Steve anywhere. Peggy raised her hand to Howard and the other men in the symbol to halt. They stopped, several feet away. 

Of course, Howard wouldn’t think Steve would choose to look like a woman. But Steve didn’t know how long they had before he figured it out. 

“He doesn’t know it’s me yet,” said Steve, softly so only Peggy could hear. 

“More fool him,” said Peggy, with a smile. “Your notebook, please?” She asked, holding out her hand. He gave her his notebook and she scribbled an address and a year on a blank page. “If not in this lifetime, then in another, perhaps we can have our dance.” 

His heart filled with love, taking her words along with his notebook. Then, he kissed her, and she made a small noise. The moment lingered: five, four, three, two…

“Oh. Well, that’s something,” said Howard.

 _One._

Steve let Peggy go. With his eyes locked on hers, he tapped the device and activated his suit, shedding the illusion. There was an immediate outcry from Howard and the others as they once again charged forward, but Steve was gone in a blink of an eye.


	4. The Reality Stone

He could have used a minute to think and process and find his feet again, a sort of quantum way station where he could catch his breath, but all he had were the quick swirling moments it took to travel through the quantum realm to his next stop. 

Asgard was bright, causing him to blink. Thor and Rocket vanished just as he appeared, one second of overlap. Even just the brief sight of Thor made him feel lonely. 

“Well. And who are you?” asked a warm, surprised voice.

Steve turned to face a regal-looking woman, with long golden red hair and a rather amused, wary expression. She was tall and—oh, this was Thor’s mother, he realized. He remembered her name was Frigga—Queen Frigga. “Ma’am,” he said, then thought better of it. “Uh…your majesty.” 

She lifted her hand in a small gesture, indicating his address to her was not important, but her expectant look told him he had better give her an answer.

“Steve Rogers. I’m a friend of Thor’s. I’ve come to return,” he lifted Mjolnir, to show her. Both of the queen’s eyebrows rose up to her hairline in surprise. “To return this. As well as—”

He started to show her the case with the Stones. Maybe he could leave both the Aether and Mjolnir in Frigga’s capable hands, and then he could depart right away. But he wasn’t even able to finish speaking before a loud commotion beat down the chamber doors and what looked like an entire squadron of soldiers charged in yelling, “Catch that rabbit!”

“Whoops,” said Steve. Before he could be seen, he changed his appearance, choosing to look like his father again but dressed in the same type of Asgardian armor as the soldiers. Seeing him use magic made Frigga’s eyebrows rise even higher. “Sorry,” he said to her, stepping back to blend in with the soldiers.

There being no rabbit to catch in Frigga’s chambers, orders were yelled, and spears and swords waved. “Stop, stop,” called Frigga, raising her voice and lifting her hands to calm the soldiers down. “The rabbit isn’t here,” she said. 

The soldiers grumbled, their armor clanking disappointedly, but they spread out through the large airy room. “He might be hiding, your majesty,” said the leader. 

In the confusion, Steve started to inch toward the door, intending to sneak away. He didn’t want to risk discovery among the soldiers, resigned to finding Jane Foster on his own. 

“Young man,” said Frigga, her voice carrying easily over the noise of the men continuing their search. The soldiers paused, collectively turning to see whom Frigga was speaking to. Steve froze, unable to move in any direction with everyone’s attention on him. He expected Frigga to give an order to take him into custody. But instead, as she approached, she placed a hand on his arm. “Does my son live?”

He blinked, realizing what it must look like for him to have returned the hammer and not Thor. “Yes,” he answered. “He lives.”

Her shoulders lowered with a release of tension, and her expression shifted to frank curiosity. She opened the door for him. “What you seek is in the chambers at the far end of the hallway. Turn left, then three doors down,” she said. 

Steve let his mouth fall open in surprise but no words came out. He could sense the soldiers looking at each other, wondering who he was, and what he had been doing in the queen’s chambers. Such was the authority of the queen that no one questioned her. 

“Thank you,” he said, finding his voice. 

In return she gave him an odd look—neither smile nor frown—then held him back before he could step through. “Do not leave Asgard until I’ve had a chance to speak with you.”

It wasn’t a request. Steve recognized an order when he heard one. He swallowed, then nodded his agreement. She took a moment to study him, then seemed satisfied and let him go. 

Out in the hallway, he hurried along, repeating her directions to himself. The palace was a large, echoey place, but he had no time to admire its grandeur. He turned left and heard voices coming from the third chamber. The doors had been left open, probably by the soldiers chasing Rocket. It was easy to slip in, and he crept along the wall till he could hide behind some curtains. 

“I don’t know what just happened,” said a female voice that could only belong to Jane Foster. Steve peeked from behind the curtains to get a better look. 

If someone had told him that at one point in his life he would be sneaking into a girl’s bedroom to hide behind a set of curtains so he could wait for the right moment to jump out, stick her with some magical red goo, then vanish, he would have thought Bucky had been reading too many science fiction novels. 

“What do you recall?” asked a very familiar voice, and Steve pulled back the curtain to see Thor moving toward Jane, kneeling at her side, looking quite anxious. Steve knew Thor technically hadn’t aged between 2013 and 2023, but he looked so young, kneeling beside Jane. He guessed they had all aged considerably in those five years after the Snap. It was a little painful, to see Thor so undamaged. 

“I was trying to nap, just resting, and then this thing came out of nowhere.” She stopped and looked at her hand, a crease of confusion between her brows. “I think it was a raccoon, but it was wearing clothes. Do you have raccoons on Asgard?”

“Raccoons?” Thor shook his head, not recognizing the word. “Are you hurt?” asked Thor. “Did it attack you?”

“I’m fine, I feel fine. Actually, Thor, I think it’s out of me. I think he stole the Aether,” said Jane, with a wondering, inward-looking examination of the skin of her hand and forearm. “Is that possible? Your father didn’t know how to get it out of me.”

“I…don’t know,” said Thor, with a furrowed brow. Steve could see how careful Thor was with Jane, how afraid he was to touch her or disturb her in any way. “Perhaps we should return to the Healers. Have them examine you again.”

“I guess,” said Jane, reluctantly. “Do you mind if we go for a walk? Or just go outside for a bit? I’d like to see more of Asgard.”

Thor gave her a smile. “All right,” he said, rising to his feet. Jane popped right off the chaise-like chair and walked quickly out of the room, clearly not wanting to spend any more time inside. Thor had to hurry to catch up with her. A moment later, and Steve was left alone. 

Stepping out from behind the curtains, he sighed. It wasn’t going to be easy getting the Aether back into Jane, especially if Thor didn’t let her out of his sight now. Steve was starting to wonder if it was necessary to go that far anyway. Perhaps there was another way. If he understood Thor’s rambling story during their planning for the Time Heist, Asgard would be attacked very soon. He didn’t have much time. 

Steve lifted Mjolnir, spinning it once, before setting it down on the balcony railing, resting his hand on it. This was as good a place as any to leave the hammer. Thor obviously hadn’t noticed it was missing. It was unexpectedly difficult to part with it. The hammer had become something of a friend, even more than it was a weapon. He understood Thor’s heartbreak over losing it. 

“Thank you,” he said, patting Mjolnir once, receiving a spark in return.

He took out the case with the Stones and then brought out the extractor Rocket had used previously. Rocket never explained how it worked, but the Reality Stone preferred, if such a thing could have a preference, its usual amorphous state. Better to occupy a host with, Steve supposed. Rocket modified the device to contain the Aether, and if it could extract it from Jane, it could put it back as well. “Just poke her with it, and it’ll go back into her,” said Rocket, like anyone could do it.

Easier said than done, thought Steve. But he placed the extractor end of the device against the Stone, which enclosed and absorbed it, and a moment later he could see the red substance filling the device. From his notebook he tore out a page and wrote: _This is the Aether. Good luck!_. 

He stuck the note on the extractor and set it down on the table next to the chaise lounge, reasoning with himself that Thor or Jane would find it eventually. But he stared at the thing and not ten seconds after he set it down did he picked it up again. What was he thinking? He couldn’t just leave the Aether, unattended and vulnerable, when an attack was imminent. 

“Damn it,” he muttered to himself, getting rid of the ridiculous horned helmet but keeping the armor, and once again heading into the hallway with the Aether in his hand. 

Not wanting to get lost, he asked passersby if they’d seen Thor, and could point him in the right direction. He rushed down a busy promenade, but then paused as he got his first real look at Asgard, with its elaborate buildings and intricate golden spires, catching sight of the rainbow bridge shooting out across a sea. It was certainly very grand. 

It didn’t take long to spot Thor and Jane strolling at a leisurely pace. Steve paused several feet away, watching the couple have eyes only for each other. They turned a corner, disappearing from sight. Steve made a decision. The simplest thing to do would be to walk up to Jane and hand her the Aether, but as soon as he turned the same corner, Thor grabbed him by the neck and dragged him to a secluded and covered area before slamming Steve against the stone masonry. 

“Who are you and why are you following us?” demanded Thor, squeezing Steve’s neck. Steve flailed, guessing he’d been a little too obvious. 

Jane, flushed and shocked, looked quickly between the two of them, hesitantly reaching to stop Thor, but then dropping her hand. Steve didn’t blame her. When angered, and in full protective mode, Thor was very intimidating. 

“Wait…Thor…” gasped Steve, peeling back Thor’s fingers from his throat. Thor frowned even more at Steve’s strength against him. Two blue eyes, thought Steve as his vision darkened, Thor still had two blue eyes. “Message…from the…Queen…”

Abruptly, Thor let him go. Steve choked and gasped, bending over and coughing as he sucked in air. 

“You’re from the Queen’s Guard?” asked Thor, still frowning. “I don’t recognize you, and I thought I knew everyone.”

Wheezing a little, Steve straightened. He didn’t address Thor but turned instead to Jane. “The rabbit is gone,” he said, his voice rasping as he swallowed past his sore throat. “But he left this behind. I was instructed to give it to you.”

He held out the extractor with the Aether. Jane’s mouth dropped open, but when she recognized it for what it was she didn’t hesitate to take it. Delivered, thought Steve. Four down, two more to go. 

“So he did take it out of me,” said Jane, examining the Aether, watching it sludge from one side to the other within the device. “But why did he? And then why did he leave it behind? Look, there’s a note.” 

Steve had forgotten about the note, at first too preoccupied tailing Thor, and then too distracted trying not to be killed by Thor, but it was too late to take it back now. She read it, made a face, and then handed the note to Thor. 

“Good luck?” read Thor, perplexed. “This is in English. And the writing, it’s familiar. It looks like the Captain’s handwriting. My friend, on Earth.”

Steve froze, stunned that Thor could recognize his handwriting, and trying to remember when Thor had ever even seen his writing to begin with. When had he had the chance? At this point in time, they had only known each other briefly during the Battle of New York. But, clearly he must have. And he referred to Steve as his friend. Despite Thor almost crushing his larynx, Steve felt a wave of fondness for him that was so strong he began coughing again to hide it. 

“I don’t know what any of this means. What are we going to do now?” asked Jane. “Your father said…”

“My father doesn’t know everything,” said Thor, folding the note and putting it away. 

From behind them came soft footsteps. “Don’t let him hear you say that,” said the Queen. 

They turned to see the queen walking toward them. Frigga glanced at Steve but gave her attention to her son and Jane. Since he was supposed to be her guard, Steve positioned himself near her, watching the awkward introduction between Frigga and Jane. Not thirty seconds later, an alarm started. 

This was it, thought Steve, as both he and Thor stared in the direction of the prisons. 

“Go,” said Frigga to Thor. “I will look after her.” Thor called Mjolnir and flew off to deal with the prison break. 

Steve searched the skies for the ships that he knew would be next. “Your majesty,” he said, on alert for signs of the attack, but turning to address Frigga. Jane nervously looked at both of them. “We should get inside. And I’m going to need a weapon.”

Frigga met his gaze with all seriousness. She opened her mouth, but then seemed to change her mind about what she wanted to say, giving him the same curious look she’d given him earlier. “This way,” she said, to both of them. 

They walked quickly, returning to the palace. Frigga led them to the armory where many other soldiers were also arming themselves. Steve took a shield and a sword. Someone who could only be Odin stopped to speak with Frigga and Jane before leaving with a squadron. 

When he returned to Frigga’s side, she looked him up and down, then snagged a sword from a passing soldier. “Listen,” she said, as they continued walking. “I need both of you to do everything I ask, no questions.”

He and Jane answered at the same time. “Yes, ma’am,” they said, glancing at each other. 

Before they reached Frigga’s chambers, the first battle sounds came from across Asgard. Steve looked outside a passing window and saw the force field rising over the palace begin to fail in a golden cascade. 

“What’s that?” asked Jane, wide-eyed. 

“They’ve brought down the palace shields,” said Frigga, and she and Steve shared a look as they entered her chambers. “Come. I suspect we don’t have much time.”

Her prediction came true. Not ten seconds after they entered the antechamber to her rooms, the palace shook as something large crashed into it, managing to get past all of Asgard’s defenses. 

“They’re in the palace,” said Steve, leaning over the balcony to see, joined by both Frigga and Jane. 

Frigga placed a hand on Steve’s arm. “This isn’t your fight. If you intend to leave, I think now would be a good time.”

This surprised him. He hadn’t even thought of leaving. Though he should leave, he realized. It was the smart thing to do, the wise thing. He wasn’t meant to be here, and every second that passed pushed this reality farther into wild unknown territory. But he gripped his sword and shield, making his decision. He would never be able to look Thor in the face again if he left his mother to face whatever was coming through those doors by herself. 

Jane looked nervously from Steve to Frigga, a crease between her eyes as she tried to figure out what they weren’t saying. 

“Well, I’m not leaving now,” said Steve. “The fun’s about to start. Besides, we haven’t had our talk yet.”

Frigga gave him that same penetrating look her son had given him on Earth the last time Steve had seen him. “Very well. Who has invaded Asgard? Do you know?”

“Um. A race called the Dark Elves?” he said, inquiringly. “If I got my Asgard history right.”

“The king mentioned them earlier,” said Jane. “I’m guessing they’re not like the elves in any of Earth’s literature.”

Frigga’s chest rose and fell as she breathed deeply, but otherwise she didn’t show any other sign of fear. She took another long beat to study Steve and Jane before speaking again. “No, nothing like. It’s the Aether. They’re drawn to it. We will need a decoy.”

Steve understood immediately. She didn’t have to explain what she meant. With a quick indrawn breath, he concentrated, and felt the illusion around him change. He was shorter again, and about as slight as he had been in his former life. This was going to take a little getting used to. Looking like Natasha was one thing—Steve knew her well, had fought beside her. But looking like Jane Foster was very different.

“Wow,” said Jane, more intrigued than disturbed. “That is totally surreal. How did you do that?”

“It’s a long story,” said Steve, in Jane’s voice. 

Frigga’s lips twitched. She obviously wanted to ask him how he could use magic and who had taught it to him, but they didn’t have time to have their talk right then, especially not in front of Jane. 

“Not bad,” she said, then turned to Jane. “And what are we going to do with you? Come here.” Frigga led Jane to a separate room. “Stay hidden. Keep the Aether with you. Understood?”

Jane hesitated, but with a look at the Aether in her hand, nodded. “Yes,” she said, stepping into the other chamber. 

Frigga performed an enchantment to obscure the doorway just as they heard distant cries, several screams, and shouting. Steve moved to the giant double doors—pausing to look down because he was in a dress—and pressed his ear against one of the doors, hearing movement. He lowered his voice. “Quick plan. You lure them in. I’ll come from behind. Get them between us.”

She gave him a nod to indicate her agreement, and he placed himself in position beside the door, not bothering to ask if she knew how to fight. He could tell she knew how to fight. Their eyes met before the doors to the room swung open. 

When Thor had spoken of the Dark Elves, Steve had pictured them like the elves in those fantasy novels Bucky liked—ethereal and otherworldly. Well, they were otherworldly all right. 

The dark elf strode into the room, his skin and hair as white as death. Steve suddenly understood why they were called dark. With skin like that – they never saw the light. 

Frigga faced the elf, brave and tall and true. “This is the day for unexpected visitors,” she said, with a dry sense of humor. “You dare enter my chambers, creature. Who are you?”

“I am Malekith,” said the elf. “And I dare a lot more than that. I’ve come for what is mine. Where is the Aether?”

Steve figured that was his cue. “Right here,” he said, and Malekith turned in surprise. 

Frigga took the opening, and attacked. Steve sprung forward and forced Malekith to fight on both fronts. Fighting in a dress was a new experience. He wasn’t used to the swirl of fabric, even if it was an illusion. In seconds, they had Malekith disarmed and defeated. Too easy, thought Steve, turning just in time to see the large, horned alien.

The monster tried to grab him by the throat, but Steve was too quick, twisting away and leaping onto its back. He took the monster’s horns and yanked, using momentum and his strength to flip him off balance. The monster was big and strong but not agile, and Steve flung him across the room. It only seemed to anger the beast further as he got up, swinging at Steve. Steve ducked, raising his shield and blocking each blow. 

Frigga and Malekith were fighting again, the flash of her sword casting sparks, lightning fast, but Malekith got a hold of her arm, tearing the weapon from her hand. To help her, Steve flung his shield, hitting Malekith in the face. The action cost him when the monster grabbed Steve and slammed him down to the floor hard enough to crack the masonry. He only had a moment to be stunned before the monster raised him into the air, letting him dangle by his neck. 

Not the neck again, thought Steve. 

“You’re strong, for a child,” said Malekith, dragging Frigga down to her knees, holding the sword point to the back of her neck, intending to drive it down. “The Aether. Where is it?”

“Malekith,” gasped Steve, and both Frigga and Malekith looked up at him. He met Frigga’s gaze as he held out his hand. A smile crossed her lips.

Mjolnir crashed into the room, hitting Malekith in the head before it slammed into the monster, knocking Steve free of his hold. Steve dropped to the floor, gasping for breath but he swung Mjolnir again, sending the beast flying sideways, crashing right through the wall into the next chamber where Jane was standing, jumping back to avoid the rubble. 

The dark elf looked from Steve to Jane and then at Frigga. “Witches!” he cried out, but he tossed Frigga aside, charging after Jane. 

Jane scrambled away, but there weren’t too many places for her to go as the beast caught her. “You want the Aether?” asked Jane, revealing extractor she’d kept hidden in the folds of her dress, raising it to her neck. “Come and take it.”

In the next instant, the Aether poured into her. Her eyes went black, and she rose into the air, power emanating out of her in ribbons. 

“Who are you calling a child?” asked Jane, her voice greater and more terrible than before, her eyes black fire.

The beast fell back, stunned. 

“No!” yelled Malekith. Before he could take hold of Jane, Steve called down lightning. He aimed the blast at Malekith, who cried out in pain. The beast charged for his master, taking him in his arms as they ran for the balcony, and fell over the edge.

Frigga also rose to her feet. They both approached Jane cautiously and Frigga knelt by her side. Steve heard stampeding feet outside the chambers, and before Thor could charge into the room, Steve dropped Mjolnir and swiftly changed back into the illusion of his father in Asgardian armor. 

Thor took one look around the room, saw the broken masonry and torn tapestries, then rushed to Jane when he saw her on the floor. “Mother? Jane! Are you hurt?”

“We’re fine. She will recover,” said Frigga.

“I put the Aether back in me,” said Jane, weakly. 

Thor led both women to the stone bench. 

“We are unharmed,” said Frigga. “Thanks to…” she didn’t finish, and both she and Thor turned to Steve. 

Steve had gone to the balcony, searching for Malekith, but he’d escaped on one of their ships. The Dark Elves had left Asgard. When he returned he saw all three expecting a name from him of some kind. Steve struggled to think of a good one, having some sympathy for Tony when the best he could come up with was Howard Potts. Thinking about elves, Steve remembered Bucky in Oregon discovering that Tolkien had written several more books after _The Hobbit_ , reading all of them in about three days’ time. 

Searching his memory for an appropriate name, he said, “Frodo,” but immediately internally winced. 

Jane frowned at him, even in her woozy state.

Thor wrinkled his brow. “Frodo?” he said. “An unusual name. Thank you, for your service today.” Steve tried to play it off like it was no big deal, but Thor grew distracted when he saw Mjolnir. The hammer flew into his hand. He turned to Frigga with a questioning look. “Did you call Mjolnir?”

With a glance at Steve, Frigga started to answer, but at that moment Odin entered the room. 

“Father,” said Thor, taking Jane by her hand. “They were after the Aether. We must take Jane off world.”

“We can discuss it later. Now is not the time,” said Odin, who went to his wife first. He seemed shaken, and not like the all powerful Allfather Steve had heard so much about. Frigga turned to give her attention to her husband, and Steve saw tenderness there, and true affection. Odin glanced at Jane. 

“What better time than now?” asked Thor. Odin sighed. 

They continued to argue. Steve stopped paying attention, knowing that one way or the other, Thor would prevail. Instead, he sat beside Frigga on the stone bench once Odin had stood to speak with Thor. She looked at Steve in silence. Between them passed a further understanding, creating a bond. He wanted her to know what they had done here, what it meant. She was alive. The timeline had altered. Events would play out differently now. 

She had a bruise on her cheekbone, and a little blood from a cut on her neck. He was glad she lived, and could not regret it. The more he time traveled, the more he thought he could sense rightness and wrongness within the realities he visited. This reality would right itself—Odin’s days were still numbered and Ragnarok was unavoidable. He could see that. But, at least for right now, she lived. Perhaps something good would come of that fact. He took her hand and squeezed. When their eyes met, he saw she understood. 

“Are they always like this?” he asked, meaning Thor and Odin arguing. 

“More so these days,” said Frigga, with a small frown. 

Several of Frigga’s ladies in waiting appeared, and Steve stepped back to give them space, removing himself from the family drama altogether as Thor circled back to the beginning of the argument, this time bringing Jane into the mix. Steve was tempted to use one of Loki’s illusions to hide behind, to find somewhere out of the way to wait until he and Frigga could have that conversation he’d promised, before he left. 

A young woman, dressed in a similar fashion to Frigga, approached him and curtsied. “Lord Frodo,” she said, and he blinked at the name. “The Queen has asked for you to be escorted to your own rooms. A meal will be sent up. She asks that you rest, and she will call you when she’s ready.”

“All right,” he agreed. He could use a nap and a bath, as well as some food. “Might as well.” 

As soon as the two giant double doors of his temporary quarters closed, and he was left alone, Steve felt an immense relief. He sent a mental thank you to Frigga for giving him this time to rest, and with a quiet sigh, he let go of the illusion he’d held tightly around him. He inspected his rooms, which were as opulent and grand as everything else on Asgard. Several plates of food had been brought and left on a table, and there was a large, comfortable-looking bed waiting for him. He spied the door leading to the bathroom. 

He didn’t know what he wanted first—sleep, food, or a bath—and he stood undecided as the sky darkened into night. Instead of doing any of the things he most wanted, Steve went to stand on the balcony. Asgard had no sun to set behind the mountains. It was disorientating, not having an east or west, north or south. He took out his compass, and sat down on the stone railing, watching the needle spin and finally settle on a direction that pointed toward the sea and the rainbow bridge, as the last of the day disappeared. 

Hours later, he woke to sunlight, the air holding the sweet freshness of morning. Rather than wait around to be summoned, he decided to do some exploring, wanting to see more of Asgard that wasn’t the opulence of the palace. Under the mask of illusion, he took the sword and shield and left the palace with no one stopping him, or even noticing his passing. 

As he meandered through the streets, he saw signs of the recent attack. Several buildings had been destroyed, though it seemed most of the casualties had been in the palace. A few were sweeping up debris, putting their lives back together again. It made him think of the Asgardians on Earth, making the best of what they had.

He turned down a narrow, cobble-stoned path that led to a quiet courtyard and another colonnade. Asgardians loved their columns, thought Steve. He got only a whisper of a warning, the air around him displaced for a second before a sword came down. Steve raised his shield just in time to block the downward strike. 

“You do not belong on Asgard,” said the tall, imposing man dressed in full Asgardian armor, raising his sword to strike a second time. 

Steve used both his borrowed sword and shield, catching his opponent’s blade as they locked eyes. He saw the universe in the man’s eyes—mesmerizing, and Steve momentarily forgot the danger he was in. “You must be Heimdall,” said Steve, with surprise.

Heimdall knocked Steve’s sword from his hand, but Steve ducked, doing a tuck and roll and grabbing his sword again. He blocked another strike, blades sparking against each other. Steve used his speed and agility to escape out of Heimdall’s reach. They fought in and around the columns, swords sparking off stone.

He had heard so much about Heimdall over the years that he felt like he knew him, yet was still unprepared for the real deal. 

“Look,” said Steve, backing away. Heimdall took slow steps toward him. “I don’t want to fight you. Thor’s my friend. I’m not a threat to you, or to Asgard. I swear. I’m just here temporarily.”

“Are you the one they call Frodo, of the Queen’s Guard?” asked Heimdall, still forcing Steve backward, off-balance, until he collided with a stone wall and had nowhere else to go. Boy, did Steve regretted choosing that name, though he hoped Bucky would get a good laugh about it when Steve told him this story. “The Frodo who saved the queen from Kurse, the beast what gives even seasoned warriors nightmares?”

“Is that what that thing was called?”

“I’ve never seen you before. And I’ve seen everyone on Asgard.”

Steve tried to think of a decent excuse, but he was pretty certain Heimdall would know immediately if he lied. He must already know Frodo wasn’t his real name. “I can’t explain that,” said Steve.

A hint of a smile tugged at Heimdall’s lips, but it was not reassuring. “Can’t you?” he asked. “State your purpose.”

Steve sighed. If he saw constellations and galaxies and nebulae in Heimdall’s eyes, what did Heimdall see in his? He dropped his sword and his shield, and then stood up straighter, showing the palms of his hands to reveal he held nothing and posed no threat. “My purpose here is finished. I’m just waiting for the queen. When she says I can go, I’ll be out of your hair.”

Heimdall struck his broadsword into the ground, the point buried into the cobblestone road. “Very well,” he said, then stepped aside to reveal Frigga standing behind him. “The queen would like to speak with you.”

Frigga stood in a splash of light, a long cloak draped around her shoulders, though her hood had been lowered. Steve swore she hadn’t been there a moment before, but of course she had been masked by illusion. 

The air shimmered in a wide circle, and Steve knew she’d cast a spell to hide them from view. 

“We may speak freely,” she said. 

Exasperated, Steve looked from the queen to Heimdall. “You mean this was a test? You knew who I was all along?”

Heimdall didn’t smile, but his eyes crinkled slightly in the corners. “I see everything,” he said. “I saw the rabbit and a second Thor arrive on Asgard. I saw them leave. And I saw you appear a second later.” Then, with a nod at Steve, he added. “I saw you fight to protect my queen. I would have met you sooner, but there was a little matter of an attack that required my immediate attention. Welcome to Asgard, Steven Rogers.”

Steve nodded in relieved gratitude. The queen stepped forward to stand side-by-side with Heimdall, and he shifted to address her. 

“Your majesty,” he said, and though it might be forward of him, he took her hands in his. “How are you feeling?”

She smiled and inclined her head. “I am well. Thank you for asking. Will you reveal yourself?”

“Oh right.” He’d forgotten the illusion, and closed his eyes. It was his imagination, but it felt like the wind grew softer, as if the release of the illusion removed a veil held between him and the world. He stood up straighter in his familiar Captain America uniform, the case with the two remaining Stones slung to the side. 

Frigga searched his face, carefully. “The man you looked like—he was your father?”

“Yes,” said Steve, surprised. “How did you know?”

She wrinkled her nose slightly, and shook her head. “Witch’s eyes,” she said. “Tell me, how is my son?”

Steve knew she didn’t mean the Thor who was probably either plotting treason or canoodling with Jane Foster right that second as they spoke. He felt the double weight of both Heimdall and Frigga’s attention on him. It was like being caught in the cross beams of two powerful weapons. 

He softened his expression, and squeezed her hands before letting go. “Better,” he said. He would tell her more if she asked. “He’s better.”

She let go a tiny breath, and nodded. “And who taught you the art of illusion?”

This was trickier to answer. “Loki did.” Her eyes widened, and beside her Heimdall tilted his head to look at Steve more pointedly. “Not the Loki in your prisons.” Seeing she desperately wanted to know more, but couldn’t bring herself to ask, Steve searched for a way to explain that would make sense. “A Loki that was never brought back to Asgard in chains. Who, instead, escaped with the Tesseract. I managed to convince him to help me. You see, he has one weakness.”

She had tears in her eyes as she spoke. “He loves his brother.”

Not only his brother, he wanted to say but didn’t. “We struck a bargain of sorts. He taught me his tricks, and I…” he didn’t finish, but gave Frigga and Heimdall a little shrug. “I have yet to fulfill my half of the bargain.”

“But you will,” said Frigga, taking Steve’s face between her hands, looking deep into his eyes. “You will.”

“I’ll try,” he said. 

“To be clear,” said Heimdall in his deep voice, and his tone marked a change in the conversation. His eyes were hard, and he pointed at Steve. “You’re from the future. And you came back in time to steal the Infinity Stones to save your reality. But in doing so, have created countless alternate realities? And within these alternate realities, you’ve willingly and knowingly changed events? More than once, and more than by accident? Such as, saving the life of the queen, when you knew you shouldn’t have? When you knew you should have let things well enough alone? Creating possibly unstable realities, with unknown consequences. With impunity, and with no regard for the laws of nature? And, if what I see in your eyes is correct, you will likely do so again? Is that correct?”

Steve’s mouth fell open. He wanted to defend himself, wanted to say that he had been as careful as he could have been, and that much of what happened was outside of his control. He wanted to say it was necessary, and that the universe could take care of itself. He turned to look at Frigga, who was alive when they knew she should have died the day before. But, he had no defense. None whatsoever, knowing Heimdall was right: he couldn’t—he wouldn’t—stand by and let someone he cared for suffer an unjust fate, not if it was in his power to change it. Given the same opportunity, he would have saved Frigga from Kurse and Malekith a second time. “Yes,” he said, unable to deny it.

“Good,” said Heimdall, and then held his hand out to the side. At first, Steve was confused, but not three seconds later Mjolnir came flying into their secluded courtyard at speed, and Heimdall caught it. “Then you’ll need this back,” said Heimdall, offering Mjolnir to Steve. 

“What?” said Steve, but he took the hammer as he looked from Frigga to Heimdall and back again. “Wait. You want me to change things?”

“No,” said Heimdall. “I cannot tell you what you can or cannot do, should or should not do. And as you well know, nothing can change your past. But Mjolnir doesn’t just let anyone pick it up. Besides the enchantment placed upon it by Odin, it was forged in the heart of a dying star—it carries part of the universe inside it.”

“And the universe is smarter than we are,” said Steve, looking at Mjolnir and remembering Bucky.

Heimdall nodded. “Trust in yourself, and in Mjolnir. It should guide you.”

Steve shook his head. “What about Thor. Your Thor. He still needs this.”

It was Frigga who spoke. “He has never needed it. Do not worry about Thor. I will make sure he has what he needs. I can do that now.”

“If it worries you,” said Heimdall. “You can always come back and return it. You are welcome here on Asgard, Lord Frodo, should you wish to return one day in your future. After you leave, the Queen and I will wait here for no more than five seconds.”

“I…” Steve started to say something, anything, but words failed him. He couldn’t deny wanting to keep Mjolnir. He spun the handle in his hand, feeling the balance of the hammer, the familiar weight of it. “I don’t know what to say.”

Frigga stepped forward, taking a moment to study him. “I know my son, in whatever universe. He would not have let you take Mjolnir if he didn’t think it belonged with you.” She paused, taking his hand again, a small wrinkle of hesitancy appearing between her brows. “When you see them again, give them my love?”

“Yes, ma’am,” he said, and he didn’t immediately let her go. There was so much he wanted to say, to warn her and Heimdall—he felt Mjolnir vibrate slightly. But, she saw it in his eyes anyway, and kissed his cheek with gratitude.

Heimdall and Frigga stepped back, to give him space, and he activated his quantum suit. 

“Remember,” said Heimdall, still leaning into his broadsword, the point buried in the cobblestone road. “Because you carry Mjolnir, in any reality in which I exist, I will be able to see you. If you call my name, I will hear you, even if I don’t know why, or how.”

Steve nodded. He never intended to call for Heimdall, but it was comforting to know, nonetheless. “Thank you,” he said. 

His eyes lingered on Frigga as the helmet closed over him, and in the next second he was gone.


	5. The Power Stone

Nebula had warned him, but it was still difficult to do nothing and let it happen. Steve appeared on Morag just as Rhodey disappeared, but Nebula collapsed onto the floor, crying out in pain. She hadn’t seen Steve. The suit pushed him out of the quantum realm several feet away, outside her field of vision. But regardless, she wasn’t aware of anything at all. 

He knelt beside her, resting a hand on her shoulder. “It’s going to be okay,” he said to her, though she couldn’t hear him, unaware of her surroundings while her memory was invaded—the beam of light shooting out of her eye. He quickly left the temple and took cover outside. Morag was wet and dismal and full of ruins. Maybe thirty seconds passed, maybe an entire minute before Nebula came running out, desperate to reach the pod. 

Though he knew it would do no good, he followed her and watched her attempt to call Barton and Natasha. 

_Natasha_. 

Natasha was alive still. And on her way to Vormir. His mind seized on this fact, and worried it over and over again: on her way to Vormir, it repeated. _On her way to Vormir!_

It hadn’t happened yet. Could he stop it from happening? Could he save her? 

Thanos’s immense ship appeared overhead, parting the storm clouds and knocking him out of his thought loop. It was jarring, seeing it again. It brought back the gloom and desperation of battle. Even his leg ached in sympathy, throbbing from a long healed wound, and for a moment he stood alone again, facing down all of Thanos’s army.

Steady Rogers, a voice said to him. Mjolnir vibrated in his hand, its sign to him. This Thanos had yet to make the journey to the future. And there was nothing Steve could do here that would change what happened. He had a job to do, and he’d better get with the program. 

Steve stepped further into shadow, watching the energy beam catch the pod with Nebula inside it. Then the ship disappeared, and the dark clouds swirling in its absence. 

Barely three seconds later—and Steve wondered how they missed each other in orbit—two smaller ships swooped down, swiveling to land not too far from a third ship he hadn’t noticed before. 

Whoops, thought Steve. He’d wasted too much time and had to find Quill, and fast. 

With a quick glance at the disembarking men, Steve reentered the temple, finding Quill unconscious, face down in the wet dirt. “Quill,” he whispered, shaking him. 

“Whatever you do,” Rocket had said to him when they’d spoken at Tony’s service. “Don’t let Ronan or his men get a hold of that Orb. If Ronan gets the Power Stone, he’ll destroy Xandar, and then the rest of the galaxy. He’s like a wannabe Thanos. The Xandarians are a bunch of a-holes, but they don’t deserve that. Remember, Quill’s not going to have Gamora in that timeline.” Rocket paused, his beady eyes widening as he realized what he’d just said. Then he shook his head. “On second thought, forget it. That reality is totally screwed. Just toss the damn thing into a puddle or something.”

Then Quill, who had overheard their conversation, stepped in. “That bastard has no hope at all without Gamora,” said Quill about himself, his loss written plainly on his face. He had no ability to hide his emotions, and he looked like he returned to existence already tired, like he hadn’t slept in the five years he spent gone. “At least I knew her for a little while.”

“Quill, that reality might not have your friend, but it also doesn’t have Thanos,” said Steve. “And, you don’t know what could happen for you. You’ll still have Rocket and Groot.” Both Quill and Rocket made faces at each other but they didn’t deny it, and they didn’t turn away from each other either.

“I guess you’re right,” said Quill, giving Rocket a partial smile. “If we don’t kill each other first.”

“That’s a big if,” said Rocket, wandering after Groot, muttering under his breath. “No Thanos. That’s a plus.”

“I’ll do my best,” Steve said to Quill, who merely shook his head and went to stand beside the big blue muscle man who seemed willing to let Quill hide behind him.

He had to try, thought Steve, not bothering to disguise himself as he knelt beside Quill. 

The Power Stone was the most destructive of all the Stones. To hand it off, Steve prepared the Orb carefully, using tongs to drop it back in place before closing it with the other half, masking the case in illusion again as he slung it over his shoulder. 

“Quill,” he said, shaking him again. “Wake up, pal. Time to get a move on.”

Quill groaned, managing to rise up to his knees. “What the hell happened?” he winced, his head in his hands. Steve helped him get back on his feet. 

“I think you got hit in the head.” 

“Oh,” said Quill, rubbing at the bruise on his temple, not entirely steady on his legs. Quill suddenly realized that he wasn’t alone when he should have been alone. “Who the hell are you? How’d you get here?” He pointed at the Orb in Steve’s hand. “That’s the thing I came here for.” Then he got a better look at Steve, taking note of his Captain America uniform. He made a disgusted, confused expression. “Why do I feel like I’m in history class when I look at you?”

Steve had forgotten Quill’s early childhood had been spent on Earth. “No time for questions,” said Steve, holding out the Orb for Quill to take. “This is yours. Here, take it.”

He grabbed Quill’s hand and thrust the Orb into it. Delivered. Five down, and only one to go… The last remaining Stone was the most difficult, though it was supposed to be easiest. 

A noise echoed in the ruined temple, and Steve yanked Quill out of view of the other men before they could be seen. “Get to your ship. Get out of here. Go!” he whispered urgently.

“I don’t understand,” said Quill, still bewildered and looking beleaguered with his hair wet and limp. “Did Yondu send you?”

“Yondu?” asked Steve. “I don’t know who that is.”

Quill’s face pinched in a disbelieving scowl. “Well you can just tell him I got here first. You snooze, you lose.”

“Fine. I’ll tell him, just get out of here.” Steve started physically dragging Quill toward his ship. 

“Why are you so pushy?” 

“Because I’m trying to save your a—” But he didn’t finish before they were surrounded. Three men total, but two were a type of alien he remembered from the battle on Earth, with their masked faces making strange clickity-click noises. The third was a dark-skinned man with glowing blue eyes and some kind of cybernetic enhancement attached to the sides of his head. 

“Drop it,” said the machine-head man, pointing his weapon first at Quill, then Steve, then back to Quill. 

“Whoa,” cried Quill, raising his hands in the air. “Where did you guys come from?”

“Drop it now,” yelled the man, louder and more insistent. 

“All right, all right,” said Quill, dropping the Orb, which made a dent into the wet dirt, and then rolled toward the machine-head man. “It’s not even mine. I didn’t take it. That dude did.” He pointed at Steve.

Steve gave him a “Thanks for that” look, and then shrugged at the machine-head man and his soldiers. “Fellas,” he said, letting them see he had no weapon. He was trying to decide how long he was going to let this play out. 

“How do you know about this place?” asked the machine-head man, deep voice urgent and unnerved. 

“Man, I don’t even know where I am right now, or what the hell is going on,” said Quill.

“Your names. Give me your names!” the man shouted, and Steve got the sense part of his frantic energy came from fear—if this man dissatisfied his boss, there’d be hell to pay. 

“Dude, chill out,” said Quill. “My name is Peter Quill.”

A soldier poked at Steve, demanding he answer as well. “Steve Rogers,” said Steve, much calmer than anyone else. “I’m just passing through.”

“Move,” said the man, point his weapon in the direction he wanted them to go. 

“Where are you taking us?” asked Quill, making like he was going to punch the alien who kept poking him with their weapon. 

“To Ronan. He may have questions for you.”

“Hey, hey, wait,” said Quill. “Maybe you know me by my other name.” He gave a slight dramatic pause. “Starlord.” 

Silence. Steve winced. Quill got nothing but blank stares. One of the many rodent-like creatures scurried past, chattering to itself. 

“Aw, come on,” coaxed Quill. “Anyone? Ugh, you guys are losers.”

Faster than Steve had given him credit for, Quill pulled two holstered blasters and shot the machine-head man, sending him flying backward, then he dove to pick up the orb. At the same time, Steve called Mjolnir. He aimed the hammer at one alien, sending him flying, and then kicked the second alien in the chest. Quill ran for his ship, but the machine-head man recovered and aimed his weapon. Steve kicked the weapon out of his hands, then flew with Mjolnir after Quill. 

Quill yelled in protest when Steve picked him up and tossed him bodily at the remaining soldiers that were guarding his ship, sending everyone scattering. As Steve landed, he brought down lightning, striking each alien. With them out of the picture, he walked over to Quill and picked him back up on his feet again, dusting him off. 

Looking dazed, Quill grimaced. “What the hell, man?” 

“Sorry,” said Steve, though he wasn’t that sorry. They ducked when the machine-head man began firing again. “Let’s get to your ship.”

They scrambled over the hull, entering in through an open window in the cockpit. “Hey, who said you could come along?” said Quill. 

“I just saved your life,” answered Steve.

“Bullshit. I had that under control.” They tumbled in and Quill quickly settled into the pilot seat. The ship rose into the air, barely dodging a blast that came from some kind of surface-to-air missile. Quill laughed joyously, clearly in his element, the ship swooping away just in time.

Before Steve could strap himself into one of the jump seats, he was thrown ass over teakettle, tumbling around as gravity reversed itself until Quill managed to stabilize the ship. They both lay on their back, blinking at each other. Then, Quill jumped in surprise when a pretty, fuchsia-skinned girl appeared, head popping out of the hold, looking confused. “Peter?” she asked. 

“Oh…” said Peter, snapping his fingers as he tried to remember her name. “Right.”

Steve sighed, lying flat amid the detritus of Quill’s ship, not paying attention anymore to Quill and his girlfriend. He told himself he didn’t care. Activate the quantum suit. Activate it now, and get the hell out of there. Quill wouldn’t even notice. 

But he didn’t do it. He felt anchored still, to this reality. Some part of him knew his job wasn’t done yet, sensing wrongness. This reality was fragile, unstable—too many divergent events colliding together. It could spell disaster. 

Resigned to staying at least as long as it took to safely deliver Quill and the Orb to their next stop, he sat up. Quill was already piloting the ship into orbit. Steve turned to the pretty woman, holding out his hand. “Hi. I’m Steve Rogers.”

“Bereet,” she said, a bit puzzled how she got herself into this situation. Me and you both, he thought. 

Quill gave him side-eye, setting their course. “Hey, Captain America rip-off—yeah, I recognize the costume. I used to have the whole Howling Commandos G.I. Joe set when I was a kid. I gotta say, not a good look on you—I can take you as far as Xandar, and then you’re on your own, whoever you are.”

Steve put his hands on his belt buckle, narrowed his eyes at Quill. “Seems fair,” he said. 

Bereet disappeared back down into the hold, and after getting nothing but stony silence from Quill, Steve was about to follow her and see about maybe finding something that resembled a cup of coffee. Instead, he sat down in the co-pilot seat. 

“What? Are we going to have a heart-to-heart now? Are you going to tell me who you really are and how the hell you got on Morag without a ship?”

Steve studied Quill, remembering Quill’s own words he used to describe himself—poor bastard. He had no idea what was in store for him. No idea what he had lost. He might never know, and Steve didn’t know which was worse—losing someone before you ever met them, or being told the love of your life existed, but not for you. It was too close to his own heartbreak, and it made Steve check for his compass, then check for his notebook. 

Quill was immature. He was half thief and half hero, but Steve could tell he had a good heart, barricaded behind several walls erected to protect him from a very unstable life. 

“No,” said Steve, and then didn’t say anything else. He couldn’t be the companion Quill needed, but he could fill in for a bit—get the timeline where it needed to go. He had to try.

“Help yourself to anything in the galley,” said Quill, not looking at him. It was a dismissal, and Steve nodded silently, leaving Quill to his solitude.

Twenty hours later, they arrived on Xandar. Bereet barely said goodbye before she disappeared into the crowds at the ship docks. 

“I guess this is your stop,” said Quill. “Thanks for helping when it wasn’t necessary.”

Steve held out his hand, and it looked like Quill wasn’t going to take it, but then he did. “Are you sure you don’t want me to go with you? For back-up.”

Quill looked insulted. “I don’t need back-up. The broker’s this squirrely-looking dude, with spiders for eyebrows. I’ll be fine.”

“Suit yourself,” said Steve. Quill looked like he wanted to say something else but instead gave Steve a mock salute before he disappeared into the crowds, going in the same direction as Bereet. 

And that was that, thought Steve. It was time he left as well. He would find some quiet out of the way spot and activate the quantum suit. But, as Steve followed the crowd into the busy foot traffic of a major metropolis, he was impressed with how similar and different Xandar was to Earth, to any of Earth’s major cities. This was an alien planet that wasn’t an isolated retreat for Thanos or an abandoned planet full of ruins like Morag. It teemed with life of every size, color, and shape. In many ways, Xandar was more familiar to him than Asgard had been. For Bucky, he decided to walk around to do some sightseeing. Bucky would expect a report, would want to know what it was like. What are the stores like? Did he try the food? Did they have cars? What kind of art did they have? What kind of entertainment? 

And maybe some part of him wanted to delay the final leg of this mission. Some part of him didn’t want to face what would be waiting for him on Vormir. 

Quill, in a fit of uncharacteristic generosity, had given Steve a hundred units. At least enough for a couple meals, maybe enough to rent a room for the night. Steve had protested—he didn’t need money and wasn’t planning on staying that long. But he was grateful for it now as he spied an outdoor food stand not far from the main pedestrian concourse at the heart of the city’s downtown. He remembered that long ago breakfast with Sam, Bucky, and Bruce—there hadn’t been a fast-food stand on Morag, but as it turned out there was one on Xandar. 

He picked a seat at the counter, setting Mjolnir down by his feet. The menu was written in an alien language, but the more he looked at it the more it translated to English. Maybe it was a gift that came with Mjolnir, or maybe it came with the magic Loki had taught him. Or maybe it was alien tech. However, it didn’t matter that the menu was in English because the descriptions were all meaningless anyway. Luckily, it had pictures and he picked a meal that looked like chicken tacos and with a drink and a side dish that resembled French fries. 

A holoscreen near the food stand aired the local news, reporting on recent attacks by the Kree warlord Ronan the Accuser against Xandarian outposts and colonies. The news anchor began detailing the history of hostilities between the Kree and Xandar, showing some of Ronan’s known associates, and Steve recognized a picture of the machine-head man, learning his name was Korath—wanted by the Nova Corps, and known to be in Nova Empire territory.

Wherever he went, thought Steve, he would find a war.

The news was interrupted by a new report—Thanos’s disappearance from this universe hadn’t gone unnoticed. Where was the mad Titan? No one knew.

Next to Steve sat a father with his young son. The boy wasn’t two years old yet, going by human standards, and his father was trying to get the boy to eat, giving him a bottle and then cutting up his meal for him. On Steve’s other side sat a couple—both very attractive and clearly into how good looking they were. They even had cell phone-like devices and were taking selfies together. A group of teenagers sat a few stools away. They were a mix of every color, from bright yellow to pink to blue. 

He was halfway through his second taco when he heard the sound of weapons fire followed closely by yelling. Turning to see what caused the commotion, he recognized Quill fighting three men at once just as a much larger and older Groot than the one Steve knew wandered over, trying to put a bag over Quill’s head. Next, Rocket appeared, shouldering a gun that was twice as long as he was tall, first taking out the men, much to Quill’s short-lived relief, then aiming at Quill. Quill threw something at Rocket, grabbed the Orb from one of the fallen men, then ran in the other direction. 

Steve was going to stay out of it. He really was. Quill may be an idiot most days, but he had been taking care of himself for a long time. He could handle this just fine. Steve said this to himself as he picked up the last of his tacos, eating it in two swallows, watching Quill shoot back at Rocket but only in time for the men pursuing him to regain consciousness. They tackled him to the ground but Quill got the better of them and ran away again. Rocket shot him in the back with his big gun. How long was this going to go on? wondered Steve. It was like the world’s worst game of tag. 

Then, Korath materialized out of thin air, wearing some kind of stealth suit. With him appeared several more men, each carrying weapons. 

As soon as someone recognized Korath, the screaming started. “Damn it,” said Steve. 

The father sitting next to him clutched his son to his chest—even though his skin was yellow, he paled to the color of buttermilk. The young couple was already scrambling away, but the teenagers were frozen in place. Panic rippled through the crowd.

An energy blast misfired, heading for the food stand. Mjolnir snapped into his hand, and Steve blocked the blast before it could hit the father and son. “Get to cover,” he said to the father who looked at Steve with confusion and relief. Steve pushed him, making sure he had a good grasp on his kid. He yelled at the teenagers. “Go, get out of here.”

The food stand emptied of all customers, the attendant having fled as well. Everywhere else he saw civilians running, yelling in fright as Korath and his men began shooting into the crowd. 

Quill had taken cover with Rocket behind Groot, who created a shield from branches.

Steve spun Mjolnir fast, then flew into the air, landing with an explosion of lightning that sent Korath and his men flying backward. It would only buy him a few seconds. He turned to Quill, Rocket, and Groot. “Didn’t need back-up, huh?” Steve asked Quill. 

“What the hell is in this thing that’s so important?” asked Quill, taking out the Orb. 

“I’m starting to question whether the bounty on this human is worth it,” said Rocket to Groot.

“I am Groot,” agreed Groot.

“Bounty?” asked Quill. “What bounty?”

“Some guy named Yondu is willing to pay 40K for your sorry ass,” said Rocket.

“Damn it, Yondu,” griped Quill. 

“There’s no time for this,” said Steve. He saw several star-shaped ships heading their way, guessing it was the local authorities. Korath was back on his feet again, and Steve quickly cast an illusion, creating a double of Quill and the Orb to distract Korath for a couple more minutes. He turned to Rocket and Groot. “Rocket, Groot.”

“You know us?” asked Rocket, eyeing the Quill illusion. “Hey, that’s a neat trick.”

“Yes, I know you. Sort of. It’s good to see you both. Take Quill and go before Korath gets to you. Take him to Yondu, if you have to.”

“Hey, wait a second,” said Quill, but before he could say another word, Rocket tasered him and he fell unconscious right into Groot’s bag. “You don’t have to tell me twice,” said Rocket. “Come on Groot. Let’s go get our money.”

Groot swung the bag with Quill’s unconscious body over one shoulder while Rocket climbed onto his other shoulder. With a cheery, “I am Groot!” from Groot, and a, “See you losers later,” from Rocket, they ran away but were caught two seconds later by the Xandarians. Groot and Rocket and the sack that contained Quill floated in mid-air. 

Whoops, thought Steve. But he felt instant relief as soon as the Xandarians caught Quill, sensing it down to the tips of his fingers. He couldn’t explain it, other than this universe felt right again. 

The path wasn’t clear—Quill had needed Rocket and Groot, and with the absence of Gamora, perhaps he needed this Yondu. Somewhere along the way, they’d find that big blue guy, as well. The timeline wanted to fix itself, it wanted things realigned as much as possible. Steve felt a release, a sense of rightness again. He could leave now.

Xandarian ships also caught Korath and his men in energy beams. But they didn’t hold him for long. Korath fired his weapon, creating a feedback loop that traveled up the beam. The first ship exploded, then the others followed. Korath landed on his feet. 

Okay, thought Steve, maybe he would deal with Korath first. And then he could leave. Squaring his shoulders, Mjolnir in his hand, he strode across to stand opposite Korath. 

A voice rang out, coming from the star-shaped ships. “Korath,” said the voice. “You and your men are surrounded. Drop your weapons and surrender.”

Korath looked up at the lead ship, but then turned back to Steve. “You again,” he said, ignoring the Xandarians and speaking to Steve. 

“Unknown visitor number 4628503,” said the voice from the ship, and Steve realized that visitor number meant him. “You are instructed to stand down. Drop your…hammer.”

Steve almost smiled. He wasn’t worried about the star-shaped ships, or the corps soldiers in riot gear lining up along either side. “That’s right,” he said to Korath. “Me again. We don’t have to fight. There’s no way you’re going to get out of this.”

Korath’s jaw tightened. Steve recognized that look. It was a look of a man who had no option. “Ronan will have that Orb.”

Steve shook his head. Tony Stark’s words came back to him: you mess with time, it tends to mess back. “Not today, he won’t.” 

Steve gripped Mjolnir’s handle. The sky above formed storm clouds, beginning to darken. He raised the hammer, letting the charge build as the clouds rippled, until he brought down bolts of lightning. In the stunned silence that followed, the Xandarians looked around for visitor 4628503 as they brought Korath and his men into custody, but he was gone.


	6. The Soul Stone

Clint couldn’t tell him much about Vormir, and Steve had been reluctant to ask. Nebula had already said everything she knew. 

“I don’t think you’ll want to build a summer home there,” said Rocket.

Truth was, by the time of Tony’s service, he and Clint could barely stand to look at each other, though Steve didn’t blame Clint for what happened, and Clint didn’t ask to be blamed or forgiven. Natasha chose to do what she did—Steve knew this, and Clint knew this. They all did. That fact didn’t change what they felt. 

Fury had given Steve the transcript from Clint’s debriefing. It read like any report, dry and emotionless. 

“Agent Romanoff and I arrived to Vormir as planned. The planet appeared abandoned. No life detected. We landed the ship. As pre-arranged, I used the shrinking tech to shrink _The Benatar_ in size. At that point, Agent Romanoff and I proceeded to the only man-made structure on the planet—two towers that stood at the top of a mountain. When we reached the summit, we were met by a…we were met by a being of unknown origin. This being wore a cloak, a hood, he floated in the air. Said he was some kind of guide to the Soul Stone. His face was red and skull-like, and he knew our names. And why we were there.”

It continued on, and Steve read every word. It didn’t help. 

The first thing he noticed was the emptiness. Then he noticed the desolation and gloom—Vormir was a planet in perpetual eclipse, neither light nor dark. Steve saw a flash of Clint before he disappeared, and again his heart clenched, reaching for that one second of overlap. Then he was alone. Truly and completely alone. 

Most of the planet appeared to be wasteland, with wet dunes and cold shallow lakes, but he saw the distant mountain, he saw the towers and knew his destination. With Mjolnir, he flew across the wetlands, landing on ice-hard rock. The air was frigid, sprinkled with wispy bits of snow. 

On alert, he felt the whisper of movement before he saw it, turning sharply to face the floating specter that glided over rock, his black cloak snaking around like vapor. 

“Welcome Steven, son of Sarah,” said the ghost, stopping a few feet away. Close enough that Steve could see a hint of his face, his features—the devil-red skin, the skull-like face.

Shock cut into him like shards of ice, assaulting him with memory of the horror he’d felt that first time he’d seen Schmidt’s true face when he tore his mask off. Clint had called him the “red floating guy.” In his report, he’d described the skull-like face. That was all the warning Steve had gotten, nothing else to prepare him. But maybe he had known. Some part of him had known. 

“Do you know me?” asked Steve.

“It is my curse to know all who seek…” The Red Skull’s gaunt eyes narrowed, voice trailing off. Slowly, he raised his arms, his red-bone fingers grasping his hood, lowering it to reveal his entire head. “Captain Rogers. I have waited a long time to meet you again.”

The knife-like breeze sliced keenly through the wind-tunneled rocks. There they were, the only two products of Erskine’s serum, standing several feet apart, seventy years later, and several million light years away from where they started. Some things come full circle, thought Steve. 

They both waited for the other to speak. “What happened to you?” asked Steve, when he realized that, regardless of what he used to be, the Red Skull was now nothing but a wraith, neither alive nor dead. Steve felt a wave of revulsion.

The Red Skull thought on his answer before speaking. “When I held the Tesseract, it transported me here. At first I thought I had been delivered to the Gods, that I would become one of them, as was my right. But instead…I was unable to claim my prize. For my arrogance, I was doomed to servitude as penance, to lead others to a treasure I can never possess.” He paused, and what facial features he had tightened in a grimace as he looked at Steve. “What is your purpose here?”

The tiny flecks of snow felt like needle pricks on his exposed skin. “Take me to her.”

“Ah,” said the Red Skull, knowingly, and something like sorrow crossed his face. Without another word, he turned, his cloak billowing noiselessly around him. The path wound around the summit, leading to an open, flat landing where the two immense towers rose up straight into the clouded, churning sky. He saw the unnatural design, the symbols and carvings that had been worn away by time. What race of beings made this place? He remembered how Nebula had described it: a dominion of death, at the heart of celestial existence. 

The Red Skull led him to the edge. They were several hundred feet above the ground, and the light was dim, but he could see her, lying still, all the way at the bottom. Adrenaline coursed into his bloodstream, and he reacted as if in fear, terrified, afraid. He did not want to face her. Once he did, once he held her in his arms, there would be no going back. 

“The Soul Stone extracts a terrible price,” said the Red Skull. 

“I know. I’ve already paid it.” Steve took the case, and removed the last remaining Stone. Resting in the center of his palm, the golden orange glow from the gem cast its light over both of them, shining into the pit of the Red Skull’s face, into the pit of his eye sockets—his eyes gleamed with hunger, widened with avaricious intent, feasting on the Stone.

Had the Red Skull never seen it before? In all these years, had he never seen the prize he lost his soul for? Steve understood then what he had not fully grasped before: Johann Schmidt loved no one, and therefore when he was cast out on this hellscape of a planet, he could not claim the Soul Stone for himself, and it doomed him to this half life for his failure. 

It meant that Thanos had loved Gamora, but was willing to kill her for the Stone. What sort of bargain had that been? That action canceled out love, thought Steve. He was no philosopher, but he understood sacrifice. He understood the kind of bond it created—to sacrifice your life so that others might live. But to kill another? What bond could there be when the sacrifice came with murder? He stared down at the golden orange stone lying in the center of his palm, like it could give him answers. There were no answers. 

“We don’t trade lives,” he whispered, shivering. 

“The one that came before you,” said the Red Skull, his eyes remaining on the Stone. “He sacrificed that which he loved for the Stone. But though he left, the Soul Stone never did. Do you claim it? With the Soul Stone, you have power over life and death. You control all existence in the universe. You could…free me.”

Steve heard the desperate plea, the vain hope, though the Red Skull didn’t beg. 

“But can I save her?” he asked, with glance down to the bottom of the mountain. “Can I? If I tried right now, to bring her back? Would it work?”

The Red Skull stared at him for a very long moment. “No.”

“No,” repeated Steve, and he gripped the Stone in his hand then put it into one of his pockets. He would not leave it here, to be claimed by another willing to kill someone they loved for it. He turned to the Red Skull. “It’s not that I don’t pity you. But I can’t help you.”

With that, he leapt off the mountain and let gravity take him, icy wind rushing all around, robbing him of breath and numbing every inch of his skin. As the ground sped closer, he swung Mjolnir, slowing his descent to land with a soft thud beside Natasha. 

Mjolnir slipped from his hand, and he went onto his knees. Sheltered by the leeside of the mountain, there was less wind, though a breeze did catch strands of her hair. 

He cupped her face, closing her eyes. The head wound was hidden, and her face bore no marks from the fall, thought it missed her animated quirky smile, and the spark of her soulful eyes. He pulled her limp body into his arms, heedless of the blood, and held her close. It had only been a few minutes in her time—ten, fifteen minutes maybe—and her skin had traces of warmth still. His tears wet her cheeks. “Please,” he begged. He shut his eyes and held her tight and begged with all his heart.

He felt a hand press down on his shoulder, and when he opened his eyes again, everything was filled with a golden light. Natasha came around to kneel in front of him, her braid draped over her left shoulder. “Hi Steve,” she said, with that same crooked smile he loved, her eyes luminous and golden green.

Instinct told him this wasn’t real. Or maybe it was, but not in any tangible way. He breathed in slowly, taking in every detail of the Natasha facing him before glancing down at the Natasha in his arms, looking as if she were asleep. This was a manifestation that came from the Stone—another reality, another dimension. “I can’t say goodbye to you,” he said, the tears making it difficult. 

“You don’t have to,” she said, and kept her hand on his shoulder, meeting his gaze again. “But I can’t be saved from this, you know that. There are worse ways to die.”

He shook his head, remembering her saying those same words to him as they stood on the edge of Sokovia, wondering how they were going to get out of that one alive. What was it he’d told the Ancient One? He didn’t give up. He wouldn’t give up on her. “Don’t say that to me.”

“I didn’t say give up,” she said, and she was already fading. “You can’t save me. But you can save _her._ ” 

He drowned in her eyes before she leaned in to kiss him, gently, on his cheek, whispering, “See you in a minute.”

There was a blast of wind, and he opened his eyes for real. He was alone in the center of the stone circle at the bottom of the mountain, holding Natasha in his arms, the light once again gray and dismal and cold. 

His plan had been to use the stasis unit and bring her with him, and eventually take her home. But he found he didn’t have the stomach for it. He didn’t want to shrink her down in size and put her in one of his pockets with all the other random things he had collected. She wasn’t a thing, to be jostled against Pixie’s felt mouse, pressing up against his notebook. He’d rather return to his present now than do that, breaking his promises to Loki and Peggy. 

A whisper of a breeze caressed his cheek, and he felt the faint press of her lips on his skin. 

_Don’t give up._

If he returned to his present now, that would be it. That would be the end of this journey, and he would not have a chance to fix this. 

Mjolnir snapped into his free hand, and he raised the hammer into the air. “Heimdall,” he called, forcing his voice to work, looking up at the mottled, churning stormy gray skies. “Heimdall! I don’t know if you can see me. But I could use your help.”

Seconds passed, and nothing. He lowered the hammer, heartbroken. He had never felt so alone in his entire life. But another second passed, the rainbow-colored light opened up the heavens, and the pillar of the Bifrost came down, enveloping him. He cried, holding Natasha in his arms as the light took him away, and he didn’t stop crying during the entire journey through the Bifrost. When it released him, he remained on the ground, holding Natasha close. 

Again, he felt a hand on his shoulder but this time when he looked up he saw Heimdall, the universe in his eyes. Heimdall was gentle as he checked Natasha and saw that she was gone, regret crossing his face.

“I’m sorry,” said Steve. “I couldn’t think what else to do.”

Heimdall shook his head. “You have Mjolnir,” he said, with his deep soothing voice. “But I can see that you have much to tell me. First, what is it you need?”

Relief threatened to make Steve cry again, and he swallowed past the ache in his throat. “Someplace where she can be safe, until I can come back for her.”

Heimdall took his time, considering. “All right. But we must leave here quickly. Can you carry her?”

Steve nodded, rising to his feet with Natasha in his arms. “You’ve never met me?” It was half question, and half statement. He had known in theory that the Heimdall he’d met before couldn’t be the same as this Heimdall. These were different realities.

“No,” said Heimdall, leading him from the domed room. “But I know who you are, Steven Rogers. Follow me. We must leave before the Allfather’s guards come. The Bifrost was closed by the King’s orders. They will come to see who has arrived, and take me for questioning.”

Heimdall led him out to the dazzling rainbow bridge, the view of Asgard in the distance. 

“I’ve made things difficult for you,” said Steve, with regret. He remembered where this was in Asgard’s history. In 2014, Thor was on Earth with the Avengers, and Loki was on the throne of Asgard, in disguise as Odin. He hadn’t realized his actions would force Heimdall into hiding earlier than he should. Consequences. When would he learn?

“No,” said Heimdall. “Do not take on too much burden, Steven Rogers. The king has not been himself for many months. I know why. And yet I chose to bring you here. The signs of what is to come have been evident for some time. All paths lead to one inevitability.” 

They didn’t hurry down the bridge. Instead, Heimdall instructed him to wait while he scaled the rock face of the island that housed the observatory. A moment later, an Asgardian skiff rose in the air with Heimdall at the rudder, butting up against the bridge so that Steve, carrying Natasha, could climb in. Once Steve was inside the boat, Heimdall guided the skiff back underneath the bridge, keeping them hidden. 

He placed a finger to his lips, telling Steve to be silent. It didn’t take long after that—Steve heard marching footsteps overhead, then orders to find Heimdall and bring him to the palace.

To keep quiet, Heimdall inched the skiff along, looking up at the underside of the bridge, listening. He urged the boat faster and faster, until they flew quickly over water. When they reached the coastline, Heimdall peeled out to fly farther away from the city. Asgard had rich forests and peaked borders, and the skiff banked sharply, sailing inland until they wound around a tall mountain, hidden amid the treetops. 

Through verdant canyons and deep valleys they flew, the mountainsides spotted here and there with ancient immense statues and even more impressive natural beauty. Steve could see why Thor was proud of his home, and why it had pained him to learn its true history. And in a few years, thought Steve, it would all be destroyed. He held Natasha, cradled in his arms, wishing he could share this with her.

Heimdall slowed the skiff, flying through a narrow canyon until Steve saw a landing cut into the side of the mountain. As they grew closer, Steve took note of the two immense doors, the image of a tree carved on its front. He’d forgotten how Asgardians liked their huge doors. 

“Where are we?” he asked. 

“This is an ancient stronghold of my people,” said Heimdall. He anchored the skiff, and then took Natasha from Steve’s arms, allowing Steve to get out. “Not many remember this place, and of those that do, not many know where to find it. Follow me.”

Heimdall carried Natasha now, leading Steve along the narrow ledge, hugging the wall to an almost hidden, moss-covered set of stairs disguised as part of the rockface. The stairs took them up to the ridged mountaintop and Steve found himself in a hidden grotto. It reminded him of rooftop gardens, tucked away and invisible from air, sea, and land. The grotto had trees, and a source of water spilling in from a small creek. Wildflowers grew everywhere. An overhanging cave-like structure provided protection and a stunning view of Asgard. The walls of the cave had carvings and paintings, decorated with Asgardian motifs and runes, showing signs of past habitation. How long ago had this been in use, Steve wondered. Nature had reclaimed it, with moss growing on all surfaces, and tree roots breaking up the masonry. 

“This is the Lookout’s Roost,” said Heimdall, still carrying Natasha, glancing down at her as he spoke. “She will be sheltered and safe here.”

Steve swallowed. He could hardly have picked a more beautiful spot. He took out the stasis unit from his pocket, positioning it under the roof of the ancient cave but facing the view before he enlarged it. Heimdall laid Natasha down, straightening her limbs, folding her hands over her chest, then he walked to the edge of the mountain to give Steve privacy. 

Steve placed a hand over Natasha’s forehead, her skin beginning to lose all sense of life. Her hair was silky soft, and he smoothed down the flyaway strands, pulling her braid to lie over her shoulder. He took one of her hands in his. “This isn’t goodbye. I’ll come back for you.”

Even if he didn’t manage to return, this was a good place for her. Better than Vormir, at any rate. At least it was beautiful, and though she was alone, as long as Heimdall was there, she would not be forgotten. He had done all his crying, and bent to kiss her forehead. She smelled clean, with the hint of shampoo and the lotion she favored, free of the taint of death. Then he closed the lid of the stasis unit and programmed the settings. It had an independent power source, and could last centuries if needed. Asgard didn’t have that long, but for the time it had, Natasha could lie peacefully. 

He went to stand beside Heimdall, gazing across the land. Who knew what Heimdall was seeing, with those eyes of his. Steve realized, as they stood side-by-side on the cliff’s edge, that he had taken Natasha from one mountain and brought her to another, but how different this place was to Vormir. The air smelled sweet, and the sky was a jeweled blue as the day began to creep into evening. They remained silent, until Steve finally spoke. “I can’t thank you enough for this.”

Heimdall clasped his shoulder with a strong hand. “Thank me with your company. You look like you could use a drink. I know a place that’s not far. Share a meal with me and then you can tell me your tale, why you travel from the future, and how you came to have Mjolnir.”

Steve was surprised. He hadn’t realized this Heimdall knew he was from the future, although why it surprised him, he couldn’t say. 

Heimdall grinned, and his smile changed his entire face. “I can see it on you, all around you. Will you join me?”

Steve had delivered the Stones, though he kept one back, and had done what was needed to fix the timelines. He had completed most of his mission, but he hadn’t anticipated feeling disoriented. He nodded. “Yes. I’d like that.”

They left the Lookout together, with Steve pausing at the stop of the stone stairs, glancing back at the stasis unit shining amidst the flowers in the evening light. 

Heimdall flew them toward the coast, and they hid the skiff near a small seaside village. Before they left the cover of the forest, Heimdall turned to Steve. “No one will know you here. But your uniform will draw attention. You need a cloak or a change of clothes.”

“Oh. Right. Okay, how’s this?” he asked, concentrating and creating the illusion, his clothes changing to an Asgardian style tunic over woolen leggings with a dark hooded cloak. 

Heimdall straightened, tilted his head to give Steve almost the exact same pointed look his counterpart had given him in the other timeline. “Do you have witches’ blood, Steven Rogers?”

“I…don’t think so?” said Steve. 

“Hm,” answered Heimdall, and then put his hood up, indicating Steve should do the same. 

As the day darkened into night, they stuck to the shadows. Even this small village had columns and promenades, though more rustic. They passed through the tangle of narrow streets until Heimdall knocked on the back door of the local tavern. He spoke to someone inside who lead them to a table at the back of the taproom, with a view of the street and the nearby coastline. 

Food was brought out—bowls of stew, roasted meat and root vegetables, long loafs of bread with cheese and butter, and a large pitcher of mead. Suddenly ravenous—his last meal had been those chicken tacos on Xandar—Steve’s mouth watered, waiting only to be polite.

“Eat,” commanded Heimdall, pouring Steve a stein of mead, and pushing it toward him. 

Steve wasted no time. He plowed through his bowl of stew, using a chunk of bread to soak up the liquid, before he pulled the plate of meat and veggies closer. Everything was delicious and savory and he slowly began to feel human again. Heimdall sat opposite, not eating much himself, though he did drink a full stein of mead. 

Eventually, Steve came up for air, taking a long swallow of his mead. It was dark now. The tavern remained mostly empty, with no other customers near their table, giving him and Heimdall a measure of privacy. Heimdall sat patiently, sometimes observing Steve, but mostly gazing out to the sea or even further. “How much do you want to know?” asked Steve.

Heimdall smiled. “This is your story,” he said. “I’m only here to listen.”

Steve thought he was beginning to see past Heimdall’s stalwart facade. He saw the obvious things: Heimdall was deeply complicated, loyal and brave, strong and patient. And kind. It was Heimdall’s kindness that led Steve to trust him. 

Steve nodded, tracing a finger over the smooth wood of the table. He began in Brooklyn, because for him, that was where it started, and once he did, he found he couldn’t stop. He didn’t think he’d ever spoken so much in his entire life. This wasn’t like the time he’d spent with Loki in the space bar, where he’d had to be careful of every word he said. With Heimdall, he shared things he’d only ever shared with Natasha, with Bucky or Sam, and even they had not known all the secrets of his heart. 

He told the story of the Avengers, and the Infinity Stones, and the way Thanos had manipulated not only the Avengers and Earth but the entire universe, to gain those Stones. When he got to the part of the story that touched on Asgard, and what would happen to Heimdall in a few years, Steve stopped, unsure if he should continue. 

Heimdall’s jaw muscles shifted, studying Steve closely. What choices he weighed, what ramifications and consequences he judged against each other as he took in Steve’s story, Steve did not know. Not for the first time in his short acquaintance with the man did Steve wonder if Heimdall’s eyes could see into his soul as well as to the farthest reaches of the universe. Perhaps they could see across the multiverse as well, and into other dimensions. Perhaps, if Heimdall could see the entire universe, then the power of the Stones lay inherently within him. But Steve was getting fanciful, putting too much expectation on Heimdall, who, though he came from a race of demigods, was still just a man.

“Go on,” said Heimdall, after a few short moments deliberating silently with himself. 

And so Steve told Heimdall everything he knew, which at this point was quite a lot. There was Ragnarok, and Hela’s return. Then Thanos. Heimdall’s death, and Loki’s death. The Battle of Wakanda. The Snap. Those painful five years. And then…hope again. It was a roundabout way of answering Heimdall’s question of how he came to have Mjolnir in his possession. 

“It was up to me to put the Stones back to where we got them. Try to restore the timelines as much as possible. Thought it would be pretty straightforward, but like everything, there’s always consequences. ” 

When he told Heimdall about escaping with Loki to the space bar with the Tesseract, and described how he bargained for Loki to teach him the art of illusion, Heimdall narrowed his eyes in that pointed way he’d done earlier. 

He told Heimdall about going to Asgard to return the Reality Stone, and for the first time Heimdall interrupted him, frowning deeply as he sat forward in his seat and pinned Steve down with his unwavering gaze. “You saved the Queen?”

“Well,” said Steve. “My being there caused the timeline to diverge even further than before. I happened to be with her when Malekith and Kurse came for Jane and the Aether. Couldn’t just stand by and let it happen.”

“You saved the Queen?” repeated Heimdall. 

“I…yes?” said Steve, but then he grew serious as he took in Heimdall’s continued laser-like attention on him. He’d thought about asking after Frigga earlier, but he honestly hadn’t wanted to hear the truth. “I gather that in this timeline she didn’t…she didn’t live.”

Heimdall took a moment before answering, but then shook his head. Each time Steve thought he was done with heartbreak, there it was again. He had only known Frigga for a short time, but the loss was keenly felt. 

He took a breath, then continued with his story. “Before I left Asgard, you—the other you—gave me back Mjolnir. Said I should take it.” Steve patted Mjolnir where it rested on the empty seat between Heimdall and himself. “Wasn’t about to argue with you,” said Steve. 

Heimdall huffed, the closest thing to a laugh Steve had heard from him. “I suspect I knew what I was doing,” he said, and they shared a smile. 

Steve continued with his story, describing what it was like on Morag, getting mixed up in the ongoing power struggle between the Nova Empire and the Kree Empire, before finally arriving to Vormir, and to the end of his mission. 

“I was worried Vormir would claim Natasha’s body the same way it took her life. But that wasn’t the case. So then my plan was to take her with me, but…”

They fell silent, until Heimdall spoke again. “You’re not ready to return?”

Steve neither shook his head no nor shook his head yes, working his lips, staring down at the scarred wood of the table. “I do plan on returning. I promised I would. But I have an extra vial of Pym particles.”

“And where would you go? What would you do?”

From his pocket, he took out the Soul Stone, opening his palm to showed Heimdall. “Figure out what to do with this, I guess?”

Heimdall raised both his eyebrows. Ah, so that’s what it took to surprise him. Steve closed his palm, hiding the Stone.

“There’s a lot I’d like to do. Selfish things,” he continued, in answer to Heimdall’s questions. “What I failed to do the first time. Isn’t that what everyone wants? A chance to do it over? Do it better? I never told her I loved her. Natasha. I never told any of them. When they needed me, I was unavailable. I never got that dance with Peggy, never got to hold her for more than a few minutes, care for her, grow old with her. I don’t have a shield to pass on to Sam. I was stuck in the ice when my best friend was brainwashed and held captive for decades.” 

Heimdall was inscrutable, completely unreadable. He thought Heimdall would discourage him. Give him the same arguments Steve had been telling himself since he returned from the Time Heist to learn that Natasha was gone. Since the battle when he had to witness Tony dying. Since he stepped onto to that platform and left his best friends behind. Everyone lived with regret. Regret was woven into the fabric of the universe. 

But instead, Heimdall took in a deep breath. “Can I tell you a secret?” he asked. Steve nodded. 

Mjolnir flew to Heimdall’s hand. “We believe there is separation,” he said. “Between you and me, between planets and realms, between realities, between the past and the present and the future. Between life and death. You believe there is separation between the Steven Rogers that sits before me now, and the Steven Rogers who remains in the ice. Between the Frigga who lived and the Frigga who died. But separation doesn’t exist. Separation is the lie. We all breathe within Yggdrasil. I see this,” and Heimdall sat forward, looking straight into Steve’s eyes so Steve couldn’t escape, couldn’t look elsewhere but into the entire universe. “I see it every day, when I look across the heavens, to the farthest reaches.” He passed the hammer back to Steve. “Fulfill your promises. Do as your heart guides you.”

“I’m not sure I understand,” said Steve, but he took the hammer. Again. 

“No one does,” answered Heimdall, with his enigmatic smile. “That’s the secret.”

Steve grinned, frowning a little. “Thank you. I think?”

Heimdall stood, and Steve followed. Exhaustion hit him hard, but he tried to hide it. It wasn’t easy to hide anything from Heimdall. “You’ve set a long journey for yourself, and are not halfway through yet. Come with me. You should rest before you leave,” he said, leading Steve upstairs where he’d asked the innkeeper to prepare rooms for them. 

The night was cool, but the fire in his room warded off the chill. Heimdall lit the lamps for him as Steve shed the illusion and then his uniform like he was shedding the mission off his shoulders. 

After the hours he spent talking, now it was like he’d forgotten how to speak, but fortunately Heimdall didn’t seem to need words. Heimdall stayed nearby, standing silently on the balcony, sword in hand and gazing out to the sea like he stood guard over both Steve and Asgard. It was comforting, and Steve realized the last time he had been able to rest, truly rest, had also been on Asgard. Steve lay down on the bed and fell instantly asleep. 

In the morning, he woke alone to the sound of birdsong from the open balcony. When he sat up against the pillows, he had a view of the sea from his bed. Tomorrow had come and gone, he thought, looking at the GPS device around his hand, tethering him to another time. 

He got out of bed, used the bathroom, bathed, ate some food, and dressed. Worried about keeping the Soul Stone loose in his pocket, he found a small ornate box for it. Then he sat back down at the table and stared at the time travel device. 

It was preprogrammed, and if left unchanged the next jump would take him home again. He thought long and hard about what his next steps would be, and took out his notebook, flipping through pages. With two vials left, where would he go? The idea had started in 1970, and he hadn’t stopped thinking about it since then. With his heart thumping, blood rushing in his ears, he entered a different time, date, and location. 

He was just beginning to wonder where Heimdall was when he heard shouting and the clanking of metal weapons, and then the unmistakable sound of marching feet. He stepped onto the balcony, seeing several Asgardian soldiers in royal armor facing the inn, glinting golden in the sunlight. “Heimdall,” called the commander. “We know you’re in there. The Allfather requests your presence.”

There was answering silence. Then, from the ground floor, Heimdall strode out to meet the commander face-to-face. He would have seen them coming, but instead of leaving, Heimdall had stayed. 

“Come with us,” said the commander. “You are needed in the palace.”

Heimdall shook his head. “Tell the king he can come to me if he wishes for us to speak.”

There was a murmur of unrest. It was treason to speak so, to refuse the King’s command. Before the guard could repeat his request, Heimdall raised his hand as if asking for silence, looking up at the balcony where Steve stood watching. 

Steve was ready to go to Heimdall’s aid. They could fight together, and Steve would have a chance to return some of the favor and generosity he’d received, but as their eyes met, Heimdall shook his head. It was as clear a message as anything. Heimdall brought his hand to his forehead, telling Steve to go. 

It was a tough call. But those soldiers were no match for Heimdall, and Steve’s presence would only complicate matters further. He nodded in answer, placing a hand to his chest as the only way he could to show his gratitude. Heimdall smiled, then unsheathed his broadsword and faced the guards.

Steve left the noise of their fight behind him, stepping back into the room. He looked once around before picking up Mjolnir. The time suit closed around him, helmet covering his face, and then he vanished.

**Author's Note:**

> Confession: If I had all the time in the world, and fewer inhibitions, I would have written this story with Steve hooking up with every one of the tagged characters. But, alas, I chose to make this series primarily gen. 
> 
> In this part, there are a few tender scenes between Steve and Peggy when he returns the Tesseract to 1970. I hope you enjoy!
> 
> You can find me on [tumblr](http://hafital.tumblr.com/), where I mostly reblog things that make me laugh.
> 
> Please [reblog](https://hafital.tumblr.com/post/614934898786140160/the-infinity-stones-chapter-1-hafital-marvel) if you're so inclined. Thank you for reading!


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